HERE’S me, nine years old in 1965 in my short trousers and my shirt and cardigan and my sensible shoes going round from our house on Barnsley Road to Mrs Batty’s shop to get what my mother called ‘a few bits’ which is still a phrase I hear when I go High Street shopping in Wombwell: ‘Aye, I’ve just come for a few bits. I’ll be getting the next bus back.’

I’m a big boy, so I told my mam, so I don’t need a list.

I’ve got a shopping bag and I’ve got the right money in my purse but I haven’t got a list.

The few bits are a cut loaf, a tin of beans, a bottle of tomato sauce and some black shoelaces.

Only four items but maybe I should have had a list.

Or maybe not: I’m a big boy.

My parents and I once saw a lad on Wombwell Top Market with a shopping list written on his hand, which I thought was a pretty good idea until my dad said, gravely, ‘I bet he told his mam he didn’t need a list but when he got out of the house he wrote what he needed on the back of his hand. Serve him right if it doesn’t wash off’.

That seemed like rough justice to me, but I didn’t say anything.

Instead of a list I’m repeating the names of the things I need in an endless loop: ‘Cut loaf, tin of beans, tomato sauce, black laces/cut loaf, tin of beans, tomato sauce, black laces’ until the rhythm takes over the meaning and the words are just noise or a tune.

Some readers will be nodding because they recognise this as something we all did when we thought we were too grown up to write down the names of the items we needed.

Writing lists was too much like school.

The bouncy rhythms and repetitions were a bit like the birth of Hip-Hop in the Bronx in 1973, eight years later, so as ever, Barnsley borough is ahead of the game.

I didn’t think that at the time, of course, about us being ahead of the game: I was too busy concentrating on the list.

Then, just before I crossed the road, the 37 bus went past on its way through the Dearne Valley.

Towards the back I saw somebody I thought I recognised: Yes, it was my mate Noel, who shared a birthday with me.

He was looking out of the bus window but he hadn’t seen me so I waved and waved from the side of the road as the 37 trundled by and eventually he saw me and gave me a thumbs up.

Then, as the 37 made its way down Barnsley Road I was distracted by a huge dog that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and which started fussing around me as though it guessed that I wasn’t that fond of dogs.

The owner of the dog ran up the street and said, like dog owners have done since the dawn of time (which isn’t that long in dog years) ‘It’ll not hurt thi! It’s as soft as a brush!’.

Eventually the dog left me alone and trotted away in search of fresh prey, fresh people not to hurt.

I was across the road now and heading to Mrs Batty’s shop, and I would soon be buying, soon be buying, soon be buying… Well, something.

I’d be buying something but I couldn’t for the life remember what.

I tried going through the tune of the goods I needed but I couldn’t complete the trick and get the words.

Apples, was it? Apples and a copy of The Beano? Apples and a copy of The Beano and a bag of self-raising flour? Apples and a copy of The Beano and a bag of self-raising flour and a tin of luncheon meat? Was that it?

Can’t be, even though these four items have got a catchy rhythm too. Shoelaces!

They were one of the things. But what colour? Brown? My walking slowed almost to a halt because I didn’t want to get to the shop and not know what I wanted.

I didn’t want to go home and ask my mam what I wanted because I was a big boy who didn’t need a list.

I’ll tell you what: I wish I’d made a list.

Or at least written one on my hand.