What rotten news. As a reporter, I knew the day was going to go well when I heard Julian's voice on the other end of the line: one of the good guys.

A very large number turned out for Julian's funeral.  The tribute was given by Dave Treanor.  This is what he had to say:

Julian was one of the good guys.

When people found out that I’d been asked to say a few words on behalf of all his friends and colleagues at the BBC, my mailbox  filled with anecdotes and memories of Julian  from a huge number of people. There is no doubt that, far more than he probably ever realised, he had the capacity to inspire a tremendous affection in those who got to know him.

I know that I can speak for everyone in the radio newsroom when I say that if you came in for a night shift and saw Julian’s name on the rota, your spirits lifted.  Not only would there  be excellent company for a pint or two in the bar before closing time, but the work would get done to the highest of standards and the minimum of fuss.  Julian was a truly talented all-rounder. His news judgement was bang on, his writing was crisp and clean and he was one of the best broadcasters in the business. .  Richard Clark paid him this tribute:: To the audience, famous presenters are the voice of BBC journalism.  They have their place.  But the reputation of BBC News rests just as much on the quiet professionalism of the many journalists - like Julian - unknown to the listening public.

Julian started out in journalism on the Newcastle Chronicle and Journal, rising to chief reporter before moving to  Radio Newcastle where he became news editor, and later for a time  at Radio Northampton.  He moved  to London as a news organiser – he’d seen the job from both sides, on the road and in the office. And the comments I’ve had from reporters who worked under him – both locally and correspondents up from London to cover a specific story --  reflect a great respect for both his journalistic nouse and his ability to enjoy himself on a night out.

Julian had no time for the pompous or self important – if he spotted such traits in a colleague he might glance up, shake his head sadly and remark that ‘no jury could possibly convict’.  He also had a fine eye for the absurd –  from the invention of the mythical island of Canderel, to a peculiar fondness for a certain type of plate. I am grateful  to Dave Hornby who wrote:  Julian was a great fan of the "collectors' plate" -- the many tasteful and colourful plates advertised in the weekend magazines, with depictions of anything from  a powerful steam locomotive, via a wolf on a forested hill top, to a cute scottie dog.        He was a connoisseur of the purple prose used to describe such items -- all those "world-famous artists"  no-one had heard of....the "strictly limited editions" of several thousand,   the easy terms offered for purchase ("even with postage and packing, it's a mere  £59.99," he would say. )     His interest was fuelled by the many fine examples of the "Princess Diana" plate, with their gilt edges and quite incredible likenesses of the Princess, adverts for which would be torn out and pinned to the notice board for us all to enjoy.    

Rick said to me that those of us who work strange shifts almost develop two families – one at home and one at the office. And though Julian was one of our own,  those of us who spent plenty of nights chewing things over with him knew that what mattered to him above all else was his real family of  Margaret and their children Tom, Matthew, Adam and  Rachel, and their granddaughter  Emily. Their doings were his favourite topic of conversation – he took tremendous pleasure in their achievements and worried over the occasional setbacks which befall any family.  But always his pride and love for them shone through.

I think one of my favourite stories about Julian which shows both his wit and coolness in a crisis was the night the IRA left a bomb outside Television centre.  When the alarm had been raised we were all instructed to stay inside in a safe area.  But Julian’s rebellious streak kicked in and he stepped outside for a smoke with Corrie Corfield.  Corrie passed him one of  her cigarettes and they lit up and inhaled.  Suddenly, boom. A huge explosion. Glass shattered in windows, the blast rocked them back on their heels and bits of London taxi started to fall from the sky.  Julian considered his cigarette thoughtfully.

‘Blimey Corrie,’ he remarked, ‘What the heck have you put in these’

And whenever I think of that one liner I know it will make me smile. And that’s how I will remember him.