Barry Winter was a young man with his life ahead of him: happily married with a young child, enjoying an interesting career, but on Thursday 8 May he died. He had been diagnosed with liver cancer last year, two months after his daughter Marianne was born.
I worked with Barry for nearly five years, in the Scottish Executive press office. I never once saw him angry, he was never rude, sarcastic or even grumpy.
“He was”, said one senior politician after his funeral on Friday, “one of the good guys”.
Life is bloody awful sometimes.
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