My deepest condolences to Cath, Poppy and Fynn.
I first met Dave in 2014. He was my friend and colleague for just over a decade, and I feel lucky and privileged to have known him. Although I would never have told him in person – he had enough going for him already – he was one of the most impressive people I have ever met. He was as sharp as they come, and had the dangerous combination of looks, intelligence, accolades and accomplishments that might have pushed a smaller person towards arrogance and self-importance, but I firmly believe Dave was physiologically incapable of feeling superior to another human being. In his professional life he encouraged and helped others entirely naturally, without any pretense or concern for a favour in return. He was a walking testament to the multi-purpose uses of the open-toed sandal. He knew people from all across the world and took pride in his work and that of his friends; I recognise many of the names here not because we have met but because Dave took so much pleasure in talking about them. You only had to spend five minutes in his company to know how immensely proud he was of his family, and how much he loved them.
His mind was remarkably curious and active. When we spoke after his surgery he explained the illness and described the procedure with the erudition of a final year medical student. He seemed more concerned about Cath, Poppy and Fynn than what that punishing experience had meant for his body. Some time before, a mutual friend had asked him for a recommendation letter at the last minute and Dave, generous as ever regardless of the circumstances, made sure it was one of the last things he worked on before he entered surgery. What can you say about a person like that? He was as good, as kind, as funny, as uplifting a friend as anyone could ask for. He was the same Dave – witty, full of life and smiling – whether we were sat with a coffee and a bacon sandwich on Langland beach, or being detained at 2am by the Colombian military on a road in the middle of nowhere. I will miss him more than I am able to express. It’s an old cliché, but it still seems impossible to talk about him in the past tense. I can only echo the sentiment someone else wrote on here: What a man.
My deepest condolences to Cath, Poppy and Fynn.
I first met Dave in 2014. He was my friend and colleague for just over a decade, and I feel lucky and privileged to have known him. Although I would never have told him in person – he had enough going for him already – he was one of the most impressive people I have ever met. He was as sharp as they come, and had the dangerous combination of looks, intelligence, accolades and accomplishments that might have pushed a smaller person towards arrogance and self-importance, but I firmly believe Dave was physiologically incapable of feeling superior to another human being. In his professional life he encouraged and helped others entirely naturally, without any pretense or concern for a favour in return. He was a walking testament to the multi-purpose uses of the open-toed sandal. He knew people from all across the world and took pride in his work and that of his friends; I recognise many of the names here not because we have met but because Dave took so much pleasure in talking about them. You only had to spend five minutes in his company to know how immensely proud he was of his family, and how much he loved them.
His mind was remarkably curious and active. When we spoke after his surgery he explained the illness and described the procedure with the erudition of a final year medical student. He seemed more concerned about Cath, Poppy and Fynn than what that punishing experience had meant for his body. Some time before, a mutual friend had asked him for a recommendation letter at the last minute and Dave, generous as ever regardless of the circumstances, made sure it was one of the last things he worked on before he entered surgery. What can you say about a person like that? He was as good, as kind, as funny, as uplifting a friend as anyone could ask for. He was the same Dave – witty, full of life and smiling – whether we were sat with a coffee and a bacon sandwich on Langland beach, or being detained at 2am by the Colombian military on a road in the middle of nowhere. I will miss him more than I am able to express. It’s an old cliché, but it still seems impossible to talk about him in the past tense. I can only echo the sentiment someone else wrote on here: What a man.
