I realised from an early age I’d never make it as a top-class athlete.

This didn’t stop me holding my own Olympics.

I was incapable of walking like a normal person as a kid.  I’d run everywhere – forever trying to improve my leg-break bowling action, while whistling the theme from Patton or The Big Country.  I’m sure Richie Benaud did the same.  Whistling was the sixties equivalent of wearing headphones

For me, the whole of Balham High Road was mentally a cricket and/or football pitch; the pavement, my own Olympic Stadium running track.

If I was walking to school in Tooting or skipping to the Balham ABC for a cup of tea poured from the height of a small diving board, I’d pretend people in front of me were part of my race.  I’d set myself a challenge to overtake a set number of people before I’d get to the Balham Ritz cinema.  My prize being an imaginary Kia Ora.

As I walked, so I perfected my David Coleman impression.  

I’d use the cracks in the pavement for hopping, skipping and jumping as I emulated a triple jumper.   There was never much sand lying around; I invariably ended up in St James’ Hospital with twisted  ankles.  Still, I was a winner, as I never saw another pedestrian trying the same thing.  In my head, they were automatically disqualified. 

And it was the things in my head which fascinated the psychiatrists at St James’.