My sister Lucy and I are remarkably lucky to have had two of the best parents one could ever hope for. Our mother Alison sadly died in 1992, and our father Mike has now joined her. I have written down a few random happy memories that have occurred to me recently. I will have many more over the next months and years, and I hope you do to. Dad watched almost every football and rugby match that I ever played. I have a vivid mental picture of him on the touch line, standing in the rain, in his wellingtons, under an umbrella, smoking, and occasionally shouting tactical advice like ‘RUN!’ I have a stack of letters that he wrote to me every week for the whole six months when I was on my gap year in Africa. This is typical of the dedication and affection he showed to both me and Lucy. He really enjoyed his work as an engineer, and was still occasionally working up until a few months ago. I remember a day I spent on a building site with dad many years ago when he was supervising the digging of trial pits. I have such fond memories of watching him genuinely loving the work, contributing, and doing his bit. His engineering background extended into everyday matters. He would always plan a meal under three simple headings, as if it was part of equation: A meal = protein + carbohydrate + roughage He had a passion for cooking, and it would be true to say there were many hits and some misses: the Portuguese fisherman's stew was a much repeated success. Sarah’s first meal at Kensington Place was not. Dad served a combination of clementines, olives, and prawns in Aspic jelly.... It really was worse than it sounds. For a man who lived very frugally, he made an exception for kitchen gadgets. He was the world’s number one fan of the George Foreman lean, mean, grilling machine. He was always generous charities and supported various causes including: the Gurkha Welfare Trust, the air ambulance, Marie Curie, and of course, the Campaign for Real Ale. He had a very healthy ability to laugh at himself. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded me telling you that there was column in his Christmas card list, containing the names of various friends, which was entitled ‘Not sent due to laziness.’ He was a creature of habit: he always carried a pen and paper, he read the Telegraph everyday, he ate a good breakfast each morning and encouraged us to do the same, warning that if we didn’t we’d “feel all floppy later”. He had brilliant recall of family stories, and a real passion for family history, who his ancestors were and what they got up to. This was really important to him. He was an optimist. He saw the best in people. He was thankful for what he had. He just got on with life, and really enjoyed it. If it wasn’t broken, it didn’t get fixed.... and even if it was broken, it still often didn’t get fixed! Only a few months ago he and I visited this church to put flowers on mum’s grave. During the drive here, he was so taken with the amazing autumn colours and the beauty of the day, and I could see that he was really truly appreciating that moment for what it was. Dad was above all quietly full of love: for me, for Lucy, and for our mother Alison. He had an unchanging adoration for mum, which he didn't like to mention in public, but was always there, just under the surface - ever present. He was so genuinely concerned for how Lucy and I were, and what we were doing, that he tended to put our needs before his. This was typical of him, always selfless, always caring, and quietly loving.