David Meirion Hughes, Dave; best of friends. It should be easy to write a tribute to you. Why is it such a hard thing to do? You had every good quality a man could have; intelligence, looks, humour, imagination, creativity, sympathy for others plus some others not strictly needed but useful and enriching on life’s journey; strength, speed, flair, unflagging curiosity about the world, the spin pass, a sure eye across the expanse of green baize, the ability to think in Welsh, an encyclopaedic knowledge of popular music, understanding of the canine mind, the capacity to control a car at what might otherwise be unsafe miles an hour. With all of this you could have been unbearable to those less blessed but you had something still rarer that kept envy in check. You had a genius for friendship that I believe came from your natural generosity of spirit. As far as you were concerned, it was never about you. It was always about the conversation, the meeting of minds, the exchange of ideas and feelings, the flights of fancy up into the absurd. I think it is this sense of your reserve that makes the singing of your praises hard; that and the fact that writing it reminds me I’m saying goodbye. I can’t express how I feel about not seeing you again. For over forty five years of friendship, you kept us all in touch, reminded us of the best in each other, remembered the important dates and kept the flame alive. I know no tribute of mine can approach the original but it’s all I can do and I am sure of one thing; you would understand.