Don’t like to boast, but in this early photo I am preparing my review of the Sanskrit translation of the pop-up version of Wittgenstein’s Tractato logico-philosophicus.

Soon I would even learn to tie my own shoe-laces—which stood me in good stead for joining the Arsenal forward line-up for a record transfer fee of 4 guineas. My artistry is hard to make out in the grainy TV footage of the day, since I was so small, which made me tough for burly defenders to mark; in my own early version of the nutmeg, I kicked the ball between their legs and then crawled through myself.

And here I am giving my first performance of Messiaen’s Vingt regards su l’enfant Jésus:

Meanwhile I made my Carnegie Hall debut with my own arrangement of the complete Bach cello suites for kazoo. And the rest isn’t history.

See also Wisdom of the elders, A modest literary pedigree, and A short story.