I lived at 82 Cumnor Hill, in Oxford, from the autumn of 1972, when I was 23, to the summer of 1974; my second and third years at University College, Oxford. The house was owned by a couple whom I never met. An American friend had arranged to live off campus, and asked if I wanted to join him at Cumnor Hill. I said yes. Four of us lived there; then, when my friend and the others left the following year, I brought three other housemates in. They were keen, because the house was in a beautiful situation and we paid a tiny amount – less than 20 quid a week.

The detached house was built in the 1920s or 1930s. It was set back from the road, with a driveway and a garage. The outside was white and there were metal windows, painted yellow. As you walked in the front door, there was one bedroom and the kitchen on the left, with a sitting room on the right. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. My room was tiny – my ensuite bathroom now is as big as that bedroom.

I chose my room because of the view. I could look out of my window and see a wood of pine trees, taller than the house, swaying in the breeze. You could not see any other houses – I never met a neighbour the entire time I lived there. The garden was more like a heath, with trees and bushes, but there was a bit of lawn. Occasionally, we would get out a scythe and cut the high grass. If you walked into the wood, there was an ornamental pond. It was magical.

My housemates were all male Oxford students, except one called Keith, who worked for a tobacco company. He was noteworthy because he loved to cook animal organs. He would come home and say: “I’ve got a lovely heart tonight”, or “I have a beautiful kidney.”

While I was studying philosophy, politics and economics, I was writing for Rolling Stone. In my final months at Oxford, I was doing my degree, writing for the magazine and broadcasting on Radio 1. I interviewed John Peel and his producer, John Walters, for Rolling Stone, then I interviewed Elton John. Elton’s publicist took me out for lunch to thank me and brought her husband – John Walters. He said: “I’m starting a rock magazine programme, and I would like to have a 10-minute look at the American scene. Would you like to do it?” I said: “Of course.”

It’s the kind of life you only attempt when you don’t realise the dimensions of what you’re doing. But that old adage “A change is as good as a rest” is true. Whenever I got tired from my studies, I could rejuvenate myself by doing something for Rolling Stone, so I never saw a conflict, and the college was supportive. My housemates thought it was cool, because it meant there were lots of records around – the 1970s was a good era for music.

I spent a lot of time in London. I’d take the train to Paddington three or four times a week to go to concerts or do interviews. I used to sleep on the train and when I arrived home late at night, I would deal with the latest essay crisis. I did my writing and transcribing of tapes on the dining table. I used a typewriter. In fact, I think one of the things that got me through was that I was a good typist.

Our house came furnished. At one point, it was very oddly refurnished, after Bill Ward, the drummer of Black Sabbath, came to the house to be interviewed for Rolling Stone. I was doing a piece on Black Sabbath and, although it was standard for me to go to London to do interviews, Bill lived to the west of Oxford, so it was easier for him to come to my house. He sat down on one of the dining chairs and it broke. A few days later, I was astonished to see a furniture van pulling up outside with a new set of dining chairs. Bill is such a nice man. Incidently, Ozzy Osbourne was mortified to learn that I had been asked to turn up at their London office to interview him a considerable time before he’d been told to show up. I remember his genuine distress at having kept me waiting. So, you see, I have always thought of Black Sabbath as being a bunch of pussycats, which is far from their image.

The dining table and said chairs were in the sitting room, where we ate. It was a large room, painted purple. We didn’t have a particular eating time, as our schedules were so different, but we were happy to overlap. We were not a typical student house because we were three miles out of Oxford and people couldn’t just drop in. So we didn’t have so many soul-searching late-night conversations or last-minute invitations to parties. But we had a few parties in the house. Once, we had a large number of people sleeping over. Almost every inch of floor space was occupied. Although it was not an orgy, it could easily have looked like the aftermath of one.

After I graduated, I left Oxford for London, where I have lived ever since, although I also have a flat in New York. In London, I live on the South Bank, directly opposite the Festival Hall, so I can walk almost everywhere I want to go to, including Broadcasting House and all the theatres. It’s a joy to be able to walk the most cultured area of the western world as if it were a campus.

Explore Property

• Buying & Selling

• New Homes

• Overseas

• Interiors

• Investment

• Gardens

• Cool In Your Code

• Specials

• First-time buyer

Times recommends

• Second homes: credit crunch casualty or money-spinner?
• How I built my own sliding house
• Top 10 incentives for house buyers