I first got to know David about 30 years ago through bird-watching and when he treated our cats at Cliffe Practice. Not only was he a bit of a celebrity for his veterinary work but also for his botanical knowledge, his three-legged dog (Tess) and, rather irritatingly, being good at nearly everything he turned his hand to - be that cookery, music, gardening etc, etc! So it was a great pleasure that when we moved from Lewes to Barcombe in 1999, we were to see him much more regularly. Over our years in Barcombe, he was incredibly kind and generous. I well remember returning from the hospital when our son was born to find a toy puffin and a bottle of wine on the doorstep. His delivery of strawberries each summer was also an annual treat. That said, there was occasionally some rivalry over our shared interests be that his wry dismissal of my sighting of a flock of nine Buzzards as Rooks through to who could grow the largest celeriac (surprisingly, I won). We spent many happy evenings together in the Royal Oak, more recently doing the monthly pub quiz. On one occasion, there was a visual question on pop groups (as most will know, anything other than Radio 3 was total anathema to him) when he suddenly announced that he had spotted one of the clues as 'The Red Hot Chili Peppers' - my jaw dropped. There are so many good memories of him - dressed in Sikkimese garb for one Barcombe village celebration and the stories of his travels to the Himalayas (in 2000 while southern England was experiencing great flooding, he entered a remote hill village and when asked where he was from said 'Lewes' only to get the reply 'goodness sir, your town is under-water') or Chile (travelling on a long journey in a taxi only to find that the taxi driver worked part-time as a pilot for the national airline which flew to Gatwick and that one of the taxi-driver's favourite UK pubs was the Royal Oak in Barcombe!). I once persuaded him that instead of typing manuscripts for his various books on an old typewriter, he should invest in a computer. Although this saved him hours of retyping, the downside was that I'd get regular phone calls that the infernal machine had broken down again and could I help him fix it. More often than not, it was a matter of making a single keystroke. I'd then be offered a glass of something even though it might have been only mid-afternoon. When Tess died, he vowed that he would never get another dog so it was a delight to meet up with him on the day he got Dylan (quickly respelled from the original, rather too American, 'Dhillon') - there was this hard-bitten (in more ways than one) vet telling me 'I was so excited, I didn't get any sleep last night'. Thereafter followed a new chapter in his life and many happy hours walking with Dylan.