In the late 1960s the footballer Martin Chivers lived near me in Epping, south-west Essex.
At the age of 13 I was a Spurs fan, and amazingly still am. One day my best friend and I walked round to Martin’s house, knocked on the front door and had the cheek to ask if he might give us a lift to the club’s White Hart Lane ground the following Saturday. The big man said: “Yes”, and did indeed kindly drive us to the match in his Ford Granada. What a gentleman.