For as long as I’ve known Jon there have been stories told by Jon and stories about Jon: threatened revenge (“served cold”) for suggesting to Emma (aged 6) that she put slime brought home from a birthday party inside his slippers; bringing round multiple packs of ice for dinner since us Europeans consume drinks at room temperature; the talent and dedication in evidence at those sumptuous Thanksgiving dinners; the balance between the - at least appearance of being - strict parent (“Call me Mr Hunter”) while at the same time showing the greatest love any Dad could for his daughter, and care for her friends.

Friday mornings will forever mean those walks back from swimming drop-off with Jon listening, castigating Boudi for barking at other dogs, regaling stories of feckless estate agents, talking about the events ahead: always there’s more to say than the time of the short walk so inevitably we remain at the corner of our street until heading back to home office.  Often I reflect several minutes after parting that I’d just received gentle but pointed life coaching without remotely having been made to feel bad about myself.  Perhaps a raised eyebrow at one point, nothing more.

Jon shows us all what it means to create time for friends and to care enough to say things others may shy away from.  You are way too soon for the past tense my friend.  You are there at that corner, in Emma’s and Meredith’s raised eyebrow, in those stories and in our knowing how you would coax us all into being better versions of ourselves.