MR BLUE SKIES. RICHARD LINDLEY

I attended the funeral of Richard Lindley MBE today.  I didn't know him very well, but I have known his wife Carole Stone for eighteen years, and any man who has the unconditional devoted love of someone like Carole must be special.  Richard was a journalist and reporter of the highest order.   A rare thing, those who spoke in St Martins in the Field, spoke of his gentleness, his integrity and his professionalism. He often had the chance to scoop a story, an image, but when he realised he was crossing a moral line, he stopped.  There were many stories from ex colleagues who revealed what a man he was.

The Reverent Dr Sam Wells, gave a careful, considered, powerful sermon on how journalism was an 'ism', a seeker of truth.  And that Richard was a seeker of truth, so rare these days, Dr Wells said, that he would be considered a prophet.  Journalism, he said, no longer existed.  It was merely marketing, puppetry at the hands of those who had the biggest off shore bank balance.  The journalists knew their strings were being pulled, just these days they didn't know by whom. Dr Wells quoted Aristotle who was always seeking truth, but that was in the time when religion wanted to prove the heretics wrong.  Not unlike politics really. And proof is frozen perception. And truth is one's own truth. Although as he pointed out, many in power have no idea what 'truth' is any more.   When that happens, the only thing for people to do is trust their gut instinct ignore the lies told by the politicians and media to realise the political system is broken as it continues to allow these people to rise to the top.  Not just in this profession but in everyone.  Rare is it that the cream rises to the top. It is 9/10 the shit.

Plato and Socrates weren't much better, categorising and arguing, making life about criticising and putting people into boxes, much as media has become today, and every establishment really. No room for compassion, compromise and certainly not something as progressive as unconditional love.

Michael Palin spoke eloquently of Richard being a marvellous neighbour and adding glamour to an area of London which had recently only just lost Lindsay de Paul.  And Roger Bolton, of ITN and This Week, spoke of Richard as a serious journalist who was always polite, but when he met Carole, he changed as a man. While his motto was always to ask the question 'why' (a favourite question of mine, although rarely gets asked and even rarer gets an answer), Carole was always 'why not'.

Carole read a letter which Richard had written to her on their wedding day, and put it in a sealed envelope, asking her to open it when he died.   She read it, through tears and everyone, hardened journalists and editors, broadcasters and writers, were sobbing. It was a love letter from the grave of someone who learnt to love by someone who knew how to love.  And Carole Stone knows how to love.To give. To be generous. Richard knew what good look liked when he saw it, and he kept to his word, as he wrote in the letter, 'I will always love you till the day I die. And beyond. For real love transcends death.'    And I knew he was there in that church.   As I walked to Trafalgar Square filled with Christmas markets selling rubbish, the National Gallery looking classic and classy, the bells of St Martins peeled out like a. wedding day service, and the sky shone bright blue on a day that was supposed to be grey and rain.   Richard had the bluest of eyes and I would tell he was looking down on us, and reminding us of the power of unconditional love.