22-11 2024 21:15
wrote:
Dear Cath, Poppy and Fynn
You don’t know me but I wanted to tell you a little about what Dave meant to me. I suspect you may receive many messages that begin in a similar way.
I first ran into Dave in Lisbon in 2007. I remember it exactly because I said something in a meeting, something I thought was either obvious or idiotic (I was new), and Dave immediately chased me down and told me I had to write it up. We then ranted over beers for some considerable time, something we’d do often in future. From then on Dave was one of the most encouraging people in my career. Beyond that, and more importantly, Dave was a friend, even if we only spoke when we met on a work trip. Every March in Vienna I knew exactly where Dave would be sitting at the UN and would take a beeline right there before I saw anyone else. And I’d get a huge smile and a bear hug, meaty pat on the back. By 4pm Dave knew where I’d be, holding court in the creepy UN bar, and almost without fail he’d be there before most for a gossip.
Our carbon footprints are nothing to be proud of, but I have fond memories of travelling with Dave, saying genuinely sad goodbyes in some airport, when he made for the UK and me for Sweden. Poppy and Fynn, I’ve had regular updates about you over the course of about 15 years, and I updated Dave in the same way about my son and daughter, a bit younger than you guys. I remember us sitting at an airport bar, and we both had this wide-eyed, shocked and frightened Dad face when we confronted the gravity of parenting ever older kids.
Here's my favourite memory of Dave: The two of us sitting on the patio at a Maharaja’s palace in India, having dinner, peacocks wandering about, and fireworks going off in our honour simply because we were waffling about drugs. (As if we didn’t do that all the time for free). Both of us looking at each other, trying not to laugh while trying to work out, with only our eyes, who was the bigger alien in this scenario – the five foot six Irish guy, or the surfer beside him, seeming to be a solid foot taller, both of us horribly underdressed. Me in trainers, Dave (of course) in crazy horse doc martens. That was 2012, and I remember it like yesterday.
Actually no, that’s too unusual. I’ll cherish the last time I saw Dave, back in Vienna, the March before last, in that creepy bar. We had a beer, talked for ages, and hugged goodbye. That was not so long ago, and I can remember it like now.
I don’t need to tell you how intelligent and lovely Dave was. I did want to tell you that many, many people you may not know also thought so, even those like me that rarely got to see him. I’ll always remember him. I wish you all the best, and I am so very, very sorry.
Damon Barrett
Gothenburg, Sweden
22-11 2024 21:15
wrote:
Dear Cath, Poppy and Fynn
You don’t know me but I wanted to tell you a little about what Dave meant to me. I suspect you may receive many messages that begin in a similar way.
I first ran into Dave in Lisbon in 2007. I remember it exactly because I said something in a meeting, something I thought was either obvious or idiotic (I was new), and Dave immediately chased me down and told me I had to write it up. We then ranted over beers for some considerable time, something we’d do often in future. From then on Dave was one of the most encouraging people in my career. Beyond that, and more importantly, Dave was a friend, even if we only spoke when we met on a work trip. Every March in Vienna I knew exactly where Dave would be sitting at the UN and would take a beeline right there before I saw anyone else. And I’d get a huge smile and a bear hug, meaty pat on the back. By 4pm Dave knew where I’d be, holding court in the creepy UN bar, and almost without fail he’d be there before most for a gossip.
Our carbon footprints are nothing to be proud of, but I have fond memories of travelling with Dave, saying genuinely sad goodbyes in some airport, when he made for the UK and me for Sweden. Poppy and Fynn, I’ve had regular updates about you over the course of about 15 years, and I updated Dave in the same way about my son and daughter, a bit younger than you guys. I remember us sitting at an airport bar, and we both had this wide-eyed, shocked and frightened Dad face when we confronted the gravity of parenting ever older kids.
Here's my favourite memory of Dave: The two of us sitting on the patio at a Maharaja’s palace in India, having dinner, peacocks wandering about, and fireworks going off in our honour simply because we were waffling about drugs. (As if we didn’t do that all the time for free). Both of us looking at each other, trying not to laugh while trying to work out, with only our eyes, who was the bigger alien in this scenario – the five foot six Irish guy, or the surfer beside him, seeming to be a solid foot taller, both of us horribly underdressed. Me in trainers, Dave (of course) in crazy horse doc martens. That was 2012, and I remember it like yesterday.
Actually no, that’s too unusual. I’ll cherish the last time I saw Dave, back in Vienna, the March before last, in that creepy bar. We had a beer, talked for ages, and hugged goodbye. That was not so long ago, and I can remember it like now.
I don’t need to tell you how intelligent and lovely Dave was. I did want to tell you that many, many people you may not know also thought so, even those like me that rarely got to see him. I’ll always remember him. I wish you all the best, and I am so very, very sorry.
Damon Barrett
Gothenburg, Sweden
