Although I am unable to speak these words myself to you today, I literally, and I do mean literally, have the hardest act to follow. How would one stand up in front of what I knew would be a packed hall to talk about a man who never failed to capture an audience, with a stage presence that could fill the largest theatre right to the very back row of the balcony?

Perhaps it would be possible if I had even a tenth of the fortitude that Robert showed from the moment that his illness was diagnosed last April. We were shocked and horrified by what lay in front of us, but Robert refused to take any of it lying down. Determined to continue to live his life to the fullest of fullness as always, he contrived, sometimes quite astonishing, ways to work around what he dismissively referred to as the bad hand of cards he’d been dealt.

Robert’s world became smaller as his illness progressed and stole so much from him. As I work from home, we spent more time together than ever before. When we were able to ignore the stress of what we were dealing with, I felt lucky to have that time to enjoy his presence in the house, as he went about never-ending DIY, sorting and re-sorting his beloved fishing tackle and generally tinkering around the place - when he wasn’t telling me yet another slightly elongated tale, complaining that it was time for The Archers every time Radio 4 was turned on, or persuading me that I really wanted to make him a bacon roll. I feel very selfish for being grateful for that extra time we spent together, because I knew that Robert didn’t want to be limited; he wanted to be working, touring, gossiping, telling stories and gathering new ones, learning, fishing of course, and doing just all the general Robert-like things that went with him.

Although cancer stole so much from Robert, until the very end he made an extremely conscious choice to stop it from stealing his kindness, his intellect, his sense of ever blackening humour and his charm. I cannot count the number of times I rolled my eyes as yet another nurse responded with what can only be described as a ‘preen’ to a cheeky twinkle or compliment – and that was only the male ones. Particularly the male ones ... When a lesser person would have snapped, Robert carried on stoically, bravely, uncomplainingly and mostly undiminished, never allowing his illness to gain the upper hand until he was simply unable to beat it into submission any longer.

There are three wonderful people here today thanks to Mr Jones. You know Robert as a friend or colleague and often both. Caitlin, Tasha, Barnaby and I were privileged to know him in a different way. Our house was filled with the laughter, stories and chat that many of you enjoyed, but in addition, his children were blessed with a fantastic, adored dad and there are no words for what he means to me. We have lost someone who anchored us, supported us, cheered us on, loved us; who always knew when we needed, as Barnaby would say, a kick up the jackside, and when we needed a cuddle. We will miss him so very very much.