No one was surprised when the final song played at his service was the Queen anthem "Don't Stop Me Now...I'm having such a good time". It was a reverently irreverent send off, with story after story of quite possibly the most genius and mischievous political broadcaster on record. My dearest former TV colleague, Ed Boyle. A one of a kind, journalistic boundary pusher, with X-ray eyes when it came to seeing through politicians. Yet they still secretly loved and respected him. We all did. In a series of stunningly crafted eulogies, Ed was today affectionately described as "mad as a box of frogs" and "loopy in a lovely way with a blend of talent and up yours contrariness". The real story is how his deep humility and kindness never failed to make headlines in every life he touched. Including mine. I first joined the joy of Ed, and his notorious newsroom exploits, in the late 90s in the politics team at Westcountry TV. It was the heady era of Tony Blair, John Major and Paddy Ashdown - and our mission as a team was to somehow make politics interesting. Not easy. But Ed's huge creative brain lured us into all sorts and we became up for anything. And, whenever my live TV nerves, or doubt, crept up on me, I forever had Ed's voice in my head reminding me not to get lost in it all. "It's only television!" he'd say. A soothing mantra that never failed to keep my feet firmly on the ground. Ed taught me how pictures could speak - and how words were like music. Quick. Quick. Slow. When I finally left TV, 25 years ago, Ed gifted me a framed photo of us both that still hangs on my wall today - memorialising our last act of mini rebellion. It captures us picking up a TV award in our fancy gladrags. Seconds later, we had abandoned that posh dinner to bugger off to a cafe round the corner to have a bacon bap instead. We were more greasy spoon than glamour. Perspective. Wit. Skill. Humanity. Kindness. The list is endless. Ed was a lifelong mentor who, to this day, always makes me pause to try and see the world in a different way. He was, without doubt, way before his time and will be deeply missed by all. My thoughts are with his wife Jane and his beautiful family. Ed's voice will always remain within me - and I shall obviously be toasting him with...a totally irreverent bacon bap. Rest in peace my sweetest rebel, Ed.

Although the events I am here to relate are real; like many episodes from the life of Edmund Campion Boyle they are hard to believe. So please imagine the scene. A faded seaside town. Autumn. Party conference season. As Ed might have put it; a gathering of the eternally hopeful. Led by the chronically hopeless. It is dead of night. The restaurants closed. The bars emptied. Delegates have turned to their beds, to their lovers. Husbands, wives, partners, sleep in peaceful ignorance at home many miles distant. But in the Westcountry television hotel something stirs. Footsteps on the stairs. Two figures, furtive in the shadows. Perhaps a beam of light from a lamp post outside catches briefly upon their weapon. A pair of pliers. They move with stealth and purpose. Their target, a speaker system. Quickly they snip and sever the wires, and tip toe away. This, ladies and gentlemen, was the first, and only recorded direct action operation of the Provisional Wing of Pipe Down – the campaign against MUZAK…..the tinkling audio bumf that so infuriated its leading light, Edmund Boyle. Codename The Silencer. Next morning, according to his comrade in charms and co-conspirator, Angus Walker, whose story this is, a cheery Ed walked into the hotel restaurant to greet a glum looking manager with the words. ‘’Ah – no music? Marvellous. Now we can hear ourselves think!’’ Our friend Ed Boyle did a lot of thinking. He had a lot of brain to think with. He had a lot of ideas, none of which would ever occur to the rest of us. And Ed didn’t just think it. He did it. Let’s put our conference drinks bill on Central tv’s tab. Let’s deflate the defence minister’s tyres in the car park. Let’s take high powered water pistols to the Prime Minister’s end of conference speech. That one ended badly, I remember. Surrounded by anti-terrorist police, armed not with water pistols but real guns, and they pointed them at us. But even they saw the funny side. Who couldn’t with Ed? Thirty years have passed since I first met Ed Boyle. In Westminster where I was the newly hired Correspondent for the newly-minted Westcountry TV. He was the impossibly well informed Westminster correspondent. He was in his element. I was out of my depth. Ed could have lorded it over me. He could have been dismissive. He could have been patronising. Lord knows he had the talent to entitle him to do so. But Ed was warm, he was witty, he was encouraging. Ed Boyle was gentle and constructive in his criticism when I cocked up. And generous with this praise when I got something almost right. Ed Boyle was always kind. I thought then, Ed was the cleverest man I have ever met. He remains the most talented television journalist I have ever worked with. A man who could walk into an edit suit with nothing but his genius for words and pictures and emerge with a masterpiece. Ed was a natural wit, a maverick. But Ed was no clown. Anyone who worked with him, saw that he took the world very seriously. More seriously than he often took himself. If he had a chief fault, it was modesty. He was a hard man to praise. ‘Great piece, Ed!’ I might say. ‘Ah bricks without straw, Johnny,’ he’s reply. Since he left us, I have heard from many of his old colleagues. Some of their stories I have stolen for this inadequate speech. All expressed their admiration – that you would expect. But also so much genuine affection. Ed was godfather to my own son. Another Edmund. Each year on his he would wirte him a letter. He’s just little extract from his last missive. And perhaps his best advice – to look for the good in other people. ''In every encounter throughout life,'' he wrote, ''you would do well to remember that your view of the world can rarely be exactly the same as someone else’s. And it may not always be correct. ''Just because it looks straightforward to you, doesn’t mean it always is. ''What this is all means for you is a message that I hope will sink in and accompany you throughout life – there are so many different points of view that it is always worth keeping an open mind and not jumping to instant conclusions. Open your ears to everything. Open your mind to other ideas. Don’t jump to judgement until you’ve heard as much as you can. ''Best of luck with the search!''  And so Ed signed off from a life in which he loved much and in return was much loved. I hope today that his beloved daughters - Siobhan, Rose, and Ellie - feel all that love. And all their father’s goodness.

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