The sun was beating down on a group of us who had gone to visit Israel and Palestine, and we were standing on the roof of the Austrian Hospice in Jerusalem, and I was chatting to Oscar and he waved his arms around, as he often did, and he said, 'Look, Angie—there is Temple Mount and Al-Aqsa Mosque, and over there the Holy Sepulchre, and there's the Western Wall and the Mount of Olives. We are all here. We can live together.' We spoke some more, but I tell this story to illustrate what I felt was the very essence of Oscar. He had an enormous love for humanity, and a particular love for his wife Firdaus and daughter Natasha. By the time we finished our trip, it was Oscar who knew the names of the drivers and the bellhops, where they lived and their family stories. Whether he was talking to an ambassador or a street seller, he was interested in them, and they knew it, they sensed it. Because Oscar always sought to bring people together. He was passionate about bridging the gaps between Pakistan and India, about bringing Muslims and Christians and Jews together, about uniting people with faith and people with no faith. He was funny and warm, hugely politically incorrect at times, and he loved his country and his countries. He was incredibly proud to be Welsh and British, to be a Muslim, a husband and a father. He had belief and charisma. He could be excitable and voluble, but also considered and, above all, immensely, immensely kind. He was a laughing, smiley, proud and devout man; a buyer, as Nick has already said, of endless cups of tea for all; a fount of ideas, from the great to the truly terrible; and an arch-negotiator. In Brussels, he took on a very frosty lady who was selling the most divine dresses for little girls, all handmade and beautifully embroidered. As we browsed the streets, he told me in no uncertain terms that my girls should have these. 'Not a chance', I said. They were eye-wateringly expensive and Madame was regarding us with a lot of eye-rolling and impatient looks. Needless to say, Oscar totally charmed her, and I walked out with two divine dresses, which were no longer eye-wateringly expensive and which, having been worn for a number of summers, have joined other treasures in an old camphor wood box at home.

In this world of ours, you must ask yourself: are you going to curse the darkness or light a candle? And Oscar lit candles everywhere he went. His light continues to shine, and to Firdaus and Natasha, I simply say, if love is measured in inches, you are standing on the tallest of mountains, and I'm so sorry for your loss. May peace be with you.