Tribute made by Jane at Geoff's funeral: The passage on the inside of your order of service comes from a paper I found a few weeks ago whilst rummaging on our bookshelves. I decided to include it because it expresses so well the things we all loved and admired about Geoff: his ability to think, speak and write extraordinarily clearly and persuasively; his solid and far-reaching understanding and breadth of knowledge; and, most importantly, his deep and unswerving belief in social justice and his readiness to draw attention to and challenge inequality and unfairness. Geoff was a democratic socialist to his core and that, really, is the reason why we were together and why we stayed together. Obviously I was not in the same league as Geoff in terms of his understanding of political and economic theory, practice and strategy. But we cared about the same things and had a very similar view of the world. We were a solid team; each of us knew what the other would be thinking, whether in reaction to the braying middle classes behaving as though no one else was there in our favourite seaside cafe, or in relation to a depressing, shocking or uplifting newspaper article. Those of you who know both of us well will not be surprised to hear that there were frequent patches of moderate to severe turbulence. Like everyone we got cross with each other about the mundane stuff and we weren't always as kind to each other as we should have been. But we agreed about the things that really matter and I was so, so proud of him: there were so many occasions when I witnessed him calmly, politely and methodically demolishing the arguments of some right-wing character at a dinner party or other gathering. Whilst I would often get upset or flustered when confronted by someone expressing particularly odious views about education or tax, Geoff would just quietly and irresistibly explain why they were wrong, always rooting his arguments in solid evidence, reason and logic. Geoff's convictions and his moral and political compass were the essence of him. But there were, of course, so many other things to love about him. There was his dazzling smile and the ridiculously blue eyes that could stun from a considerable distance. I was blown away all over again a few days before he died, when he opened his eyes and gave me that incredible smile for the last time. And Geoff was just so much fun to be with. I can remember being on holiday with him in Greece and just lying on a beach thinking I was just so lucky to be in this gorgeous place with his gorgeous man. And there were so many wonderful holidays, weekends and evenings when we just had a magical time together. Geoff was extremely funny. He could somehow make questionable quips hilarious, even after a few airings. There is a gag about a dog called Lucky which many of you will have heard more than a few times, but which always raised a generous laugh. The Geoff Bish version of Peter Sellers narrating Hard Day’s Night in the style of Laurence Oliver playing Richard III was a masterpiece - when I finally got to see the real thing I took the view that the Bish version was the funnier. And Geoff’s inimitable rendition of Wild Thing never failed to melt my heart and make me smile. Geoff was a modest man with a great line in self-deprecation and he was always ready to laugh at himself. Some of you know that Geoff worked for a few years at Brixton Challenge. He was responsible for overseeing the winding up of the organisation. I tried to ring him and got through to an answering machine with a message spoken by Geoff. As you know, Geoff had a bit of an issue with the letter r. Well, this message seemed to have been composed with the express aim of including as many rs as possible. I fell about. When I got home I got Geoff to ring the number. He immediately noticed what he hadn’t noticed when writing and recording it and then he fell about too. So much of what Geoff did with admirable competence was seasoned with a touch of his inimitable quirkiness. He was a great organiser. He devised a complex home filing system which I largely left to him, as I was rather daunted by the multiple headings and subheadings, asterisks, arrows and footnotes – anyone who has ever tried to type or proof-read anything Geoff wrote will get the idea. Over the last few weeks I’ve had to use this system and I’ve discovered that, if I just stick with it and follow the trail it works beautifully. Geoff was a great user of notes, lists and memos. He would leave little notes to me or Angus, such as “Have gone to Tesco’s. Ring if you think of anything we need xx”, or, “Jane – your mum and dad rang xx”. Nothing at all unusual in that but Geoff, rather than chuck the notes away, carefully filed them all in a kitchen drawer to be re-used when needed, kisses and all. However, for someone who was so organised and disciplined, Geoff was often surprisingly forgetful and scatty in everyday life. We once arrived at Gatwick to go on holiday and Geoff declared that he was going to the loo and would meet me in the check-in queue. I waited and waited and was beginning to get worried when he finally appeared in quite a state. “Blimey,” (or something like that), he said, “I thought I was never going to find you.” I pointed out that the check-in number was on the screen. “Yes”, he replied, “but I realised that I didn’t know which airline we are flying with. Or the tour operator. Or actually where we are going.” Again, whilst we were living in Selhurst, Geoff enrolled on an Italian cookery course. At the second lesson he made a lovely vegetarian lasagne. He went to the car with the finished product and put it on the roof whilst he opened the door. When he got home he got out of the car to find the lasagne still on the roof, miraculously unharmed. Sometimes Geoff came to grief because his natural optimism led him towards the rather reckless conviction that he could just get away with it. A few months ago he was travelling to Leeds to see Tanya and Saranne. There was no buffet service on the train and obviously Geoff could not survive for a couple of hours without an espresso. When the train got to Ely or somewhere, he asked the guard how long it would stop and decided he had plenty of time to get off and buy a coffee. Inevitably, he returned to the platform to see the train, with his belongings, disappearing down the track. He was finally reunited with his possessions via Nottingham and my sister, but was without them over the weekend, so he bought some new shirts from M & S. Angus and I met him at Norwich on his return and noticed that he had no bags at all. When pressed about the whereabouts of the new shirts, he confessed that he had left them on the platform at Peterborough. Geoff combined charm and kindness with an occasional social awkwardness and was sometimes baffled by the reactions of others. In the HMV store in Croydon, typically impatient at having to wait in a long queue whilst a harassed shop assistant struggled to remove a security tag, Geoff resourcefully produced an open penknife and was totally bemused by the alarm and panic which ensued. Geoff was warm and generous and a great host. Few of our guests came anywhere near to matching his consumption of red wine or Belgian chocolates but all, I think, enjoyed his good spirits, wit and huge enthusiasm for having a good time with the people he liked and loved. Geoff, with his great talents, his quirks, and, of course, his fallings too, was, most of all a good and decent bloke. Where there was a fine line to be drawn he was always on the right side of it. He had no time for convention for its own sake, but absolutely believed in kindness, decency and consideration. He never did anything just because it was expected of him, but always, always, did what he thought was right. He was respectful but never deferential, uncompromising but never intolerant, serious but never self-righteous. All of us who were loved by Geoff know it was something pretty amazing: it meant unstinting loyalty and a fierce reaction if he thought you were being unfairly treated. It meant you would always be listened to but that you would also be challenged – if he thought you were getting it wrong he would tell you. He would also, though, tell you when he thought you were getting it right. On the occasions when I had a letter published in the Guardian, Geoff’s typical reaction would be something like “That was quite a good letter but I would have made the second sentence shorter.” On the fairly rare occasions that he proclaimed my letter to be really good I was over the moon - his praise meant the world to me. Geoff didn’t go in for grand gestures but expressed his love in so many big and small ways – by being warmly affectionate, by making me laugh, by cooking and cleaning, by supporting me when I changed career, by looking after Angus full-time when I went back to work and, most of all, by believing in me. He was, of course a brilliant dad – not always patient, not too good at setting consistent boundaries and not always too concerned about modelling appropriate language, but always loving, generous and accepting. The story of Geoff’s illness is the story of Geoff’s best qualities, as well as the dedication, skill and determination of the medical teams who cared for him. In October 2003 he was diagnosed with AML and told that he was unlikely to make Christmas. He and his amazing consultant, Dr Turner, resolved that they would throw everything at the disease in spite of the appalling odds. Geoff then went into remission and then stayed in remission for 11 years. When he was diagnosed with myelodysplasia in October 2014 Geoff’s response was “Well, I’ve had a good run for my money”. Again he did much better than expected. And although, of course, it feels far too early and the loss is incalculable, our gratitude to the medical terms who gave us those extra 13 years with Geoff is immense. Now to Take This Waltz by Leonard Cohen. The words don’t have any particular significance – we never went to Vienna together and we certainly never waltzed. Geoff wasn’t such a crazy fan of Cohen as I am, but did, inevitably, listen to his songs a lot, and this was the one he loved the most. In 1993 he surprised me by getting tickets to see Leonard at the RAH. I turned to Geoff during the performance of this song, and there were tears running down his face. He told me afterwards that he was simply moved by the beauty of the lyrics and the music and by the fact that we were there together enjoying a perfect evening. I was a little worried that this choice might not be entirely appropriate, but as I was pondering I imagined a slightly tetchy voice saying “Bugger appropriate – if you insist on playing a Leonard Cohen track you might at least choose my favourite.” So, here it is, for lovely, funny, clever, surprising Geoff, our straight down the line, steadfast comrade and the love of my life.