I only knew Steven a little bit before I moved in with him, Sam, Anne Fay, John and Rachel in the big old children’s home we rented in Hollingbury.

He and John took me to the dodgy Hobgoblin pub and the even dodgier Wagon and Horses on my first night out in Brighton. He laughed along with John after I put my hand in a load of gob when I placed my pint on a shelf – it was too high up to see what was on the surface. We all laughed together when each of us carried on getting gob-hands by mistake through the night.

I used to love it when our landlord and landlady came round to mow the lawn (and presumably check we hadn’t burnt down the house). He would run around shouting: “The Muftis are coming! The Muftis are coming!” as though aliens were about to invade.

Steven came along to a couple of commie meetings with me – one of them was a really serious one about the effect of sanctions in Iraq. Afterwards he told me he’d wanted to make a contribution to the discussion but hadn’t. I asked him what he would have said and he replied: “I wanted to congratulate that bloke for managing to go out to Iraq and not come back wearing one of those annoying shawl things.” I loved that too.

I would go round to his flat on Roundhill Crescent and help him play computer games. We were a great team.

The last few times I saw him he was up in Brum. He was so jealous of me going to live in Japan. I wish I had forced him to save up and come and visit.

I will remember Steven as being one of the funniest friends I have ever had. - NC