See sexy pics of Heather Graham at The Hangover premiere here

You know the skinny: everybody who was alive at the time remembers what they were doing on the day John Kennedy died. That's as maybe, but I have my own Kennedy moment. I can remember exactly what I was doing the first time I saw Heather Graham. I was sitting in a screening room in Soho, slightly drunk on free beer. I was a little edgy and thinking of how to get out of reviewing the movie Boogie Nights, purely because I was indolent - a borderline alcoholic with a burgeoning coke problem and short attention span - nothing to do with the film.

It was December 4th, 1997. I stayed, and started enjoying the film, but was still thinking about slipping out to Luigi's on Wardour Street for a few drinks and a few lines with the chaps, when Roller Girl made her entrance on screen. Well, she must have triggered something in my brain. Short, red, satin hotpants. A tight white vest with little red hearts printed on it. Blonde hair in pigtails. White tube socks. Roller skates. I'm glad I stayed and watched the whole film, because it is great - funny, stylish and sad, but it was Roller Girl who stuck in my mind.

Later on in the pub I told everybody about Heather Graham and Roller Girl. Some of the chaps had seen her years before in Twin Peaks and Drugstore Cowboy. But it was Roller Girl who caught my imagination, and as I chatted about her I remembered why.

When I was seven or eight my dad used have a pile of Playboys in the bathroom. I used to pinch them and take them over to my friend Kurt's yard, where his dad had parked up an old camper van where we were allowed to hang out. This is rural Ohio, maybe '72 or '73.

Me and Kurt used to browse the Playboys, smoke stolen Marlboro Reds and pick out our favourite Playmates. One girl always won, hands down. She was a blonde girl, her hair in pigtails, topless, but in one shot she had on little red satin hotpants, knee-high white tube socks and roller skates. I loved her with all my heart. Now, I don't know what a psychologist would make of this, and nor do I care, but Playboy was responsible (and my beatnik father, in a way) for creating in my mind an image of the 'perfect woman' which exists to this day. And Heather Graham, back in 1997, simply stimulated the memory. Those are my reasons. What are yours?