A long time ago, before we remember, I was trained by the BBC. When they were confident I could use the tools they had given me I was released into the wilds of Film Department's editing rooms. They were in a place they painted white and called Ealing. Soon there was fire and the meat we ate was cooked and a city we called London grew up and thrived on the plains around the river. I was fortunate to be able to labour in all of the fields of programme making that Auntie enjoyed. Eventually I became a journeyman and explored other areas of Televisionland including one or two of the Independent States. Then, a long time later, I realised that all the princesses were in fact floor managers in drag so I escaped and ran away to sea to find my fortune and perhaps even a bride. Sadly I was too late and all the fortunes had been found and all the brides married off to the blokes who'd found the fortunes. The going rate for delivering rich men's yachts stayed at Â£1.50 per mile and what had started as a job was fast becoming a hobby. So I came dirtside once again and did many things to keep the roof over my head and the bread on my table. Then, some years ago I was in an electrical store and a display of televisions collapsed; one hit me on the head before completing its journey to the floor. On recovering my wits I took this to be a Divine Message; I was needed by the televisions again. I went into the bilge of my boat and found my old film editor's toolbag. I blew the dust off the telescoper of time, oiled the suspender of disbelief and sharpened up the thing which cuts. Amazingly they still worked even though everything had changed and there were no more sprocket holes anywhere. Since then I have been practising and thinking and playing but mainly discovering that all the things that I thought I had forgotten are still somewhere in my head. I also learned a truth about bicycles. You do forget how to ride them but it's easier to learn a second time. And, second time around you must do it in a different way. You have to let yourself become changed by confronting the bicycle instead of trying to make the bicycle do something. It's a kind of Zen sort of a thing I suppose. Anyway, the bruises are beginning to heal and I am up for it all again. I have discovered that the cobbler's first last is the best last - if you see what I mean.