One of the flats in which we lived in Du Cane Court had its windows backing out onto a courtyard. Any sound would echo around. By the law of averages one of the inhabitants within the 627 flats (we counted them all one wet Bank Holiday Monday) would be a mad person. Mr Philips was that man in our block. I remember one hot, summer evening, when the windows were open but a quiet air of peace hung over SW17, when an utterance, through the silence and reverberating around the courtyard came from said Mr Philips: “turn that fucking radio down!” he shouted like the opening of Billy Cotton’s Showband programme and then suddenly back to a silence like a grave. We think that Mr Philips may have previously been a Radio Caroline DJ and was never reconciled to the fact he was no longer afloat. He certainly wasn’t mentally.