Thanks, Jim

I have an awful lot to thank Jim Forrester for. When I came back dazed and somewhat confused after a two-year stint in Vietnam, I wasn't totally sure what I wanted to do next. Ian Macdowall, of blessed memory, decided that the Prince of Darkness was the man under whose wing I should shelter. From 1975 to 1982 on the permanent overnight shift I learned an awful lot, from how to sleep using a printer as a headrest to how to deal with brownies from a certain David Betts.

He was a central figure in the famed Overnight Dining Club that enjoyed Chinese, Indian and Turkish cuisine during the often quiet Saturday night periods. At some point he and Dave Goddard managed to persuade Julie Craig (both RIP, sadly) to exercise her cooking skills and bring in a massive casserole. In between this we managed to produce an excellent news file.

We also joked that there were three things you should never do with Jim - accept a lift in his office car (terrifying), agree to buy him a sandwich at the newly opened all night cafe round the corner from 85 (I cannot forget the first time I went to get the sarnies in - Jim ordered, and got, peanut butter with grape jam and sliced banana on white). Thirdly, it wasn't wise to express any interest in Demis Roussos, aka the Singing Tent. Jim and Bertha were avid fans. RIP old friend, without you I wouldn't have gone on to Paris and Hong Kong. ■