1/7 Still at my parents house, and didn't realise how close it was to the house we lived in when I was four years old. Haven't been there since we moved out in 1977, but had a walk past today. The rush of memories that had been buried since my very early childhood was so potent.

2/7 This was our house, and I got no nostalgia from it at all... until I tried a trick that I learned from Oliver Postgate's autobiography, and crouched down to the height I would have been, aged four. Then had a giddy memory of bouncing a ball against that little white door.

3/7 One of my earliest memories - my Mum making a call to my Gran from the phone box in this spot, while I sat in my pushchair. We weren't on the phone at home. I was fascinated by the pavement being dark on one side of the box, and light on the other - and it's still like that!

4/7 Looks like I was I was in the nick of time... even though that phone box obviously isn't the red telephone box that was there in the 1970s, it seems there soon won't be a phone box there at all.

5/7 Weirdly, the only memory trigger I got from the row of shops opposite the phone box came from the very 1960s white fascia that goes along the very top of the flats above the shop units. I remember looking at that and wondering what it would be like to fly up there.

6/7 I also got a weird rush of nostalgia from this metal staircase round the back of the shops, especially the white edging again. I think I saw this from my pushchair too, and couldn't work out how it all fitted together. Tiny, tiny memories, buried in my brain for 43 years.

7/7 And I am still rubbish at selfies, so spent ten minutes trying to get myself AND the full sign into the same photo before giving up and going back to make dinner.