I am going to talk briefly about three Ts; the letter T, not the shrub. Lovability, sociability, and generativity.

If Becky had been a stick of rock, and none of us here would have described her as such, but if she had been, she would have had 'I am loved' indelibly marked through the core of her being. Her mother, Maggie, her father, Clive, and step-father, Michael, have much to be proud of - their love was the foundation upon which Becky built her happy and successful life.

Being loved, and loveable, underpinned her sociability. She loved people, and people loved her; her family, aunts, uncles, cousins, my family, her friends, our friends, colleagues, acquaintances, the amazing people who helped care for her in her last year. Becky had an extraordinary capacity to engage others, and be engaged by them.

The American ego psychologist Erickson's 7th life stage, generativity, was something that Becky dwelt upon. Her nieces, nephews, (Stan, Dan, Lily and Connie), my sons Aaron, Casey and grandson Felix, were important to her; not just because she loved them deeply, (and they are all amazing, and I am objective), but also because they belong to the future.

Becky has left us a rich and colourful legacy. She was a creator - stories, poems, a libretto, paintings, photographs, books, articles, papers, spontaneous operas in the car, and TLC, the Literary Consultancy. Many of us celebrated TLC's 20th birthday party on 11th November 2016, and remember with great joy Becky taking the band's guitarist's instrument from him, to his surprise, and giving us an impromptu rendition of Leonard Cohen's Suzanne. It was profoundly important to her that Aki Schilz and Joe Sedgwick are taking TLC forward. She loved, valued, and respected them both.

Becky was born at 70, Riversdale Road, Highbury, on the west side of Clissold Park, and lived at 4, Bouverie Road, Stoke Newington, the last eight years of her life, on the east side of the same park, backing on to Abney Park. She loved to walk in Abney Park. Whereas I was looking at the tomb stones, Becky was observing the light.

In Abney Park, there are some Victorian broken pillars, their way of marking/signifying a foreshortened life; thus conveying the tragedy of such endings. Becky's life was shorter than she, or any of us wanted. However, she is not, and will not, be defined by her illness or early death. But, rather by; her joyfulness, humour, capacity for fun and silliness, kindness, love of food, of music, musicals, her astonishing mind, her passion for psychoanalytic ideas and thinking, her occasional irascibility, her warm hands, friendships, love of family, her unusual grasp of geography, her love of Emily Dickinson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Keats, her irreverent approach to research evidence, singing, playing the piano and guitar, attending concerts at Wigmore Hall with Clive, walking to Culbone with Maggie, being in France with Joe's family, conversations with Adam, wandering with friends on her beloved Hampstead Heath, enjoying her talks and fun times with Connie, Stan, Lilly and Dan, debating with Aaron, singing the aubergine song to Casey, Veronica and Felix, her energy, integrity, authenticity. Her love of walking - Somerset, mid Wales, Cornwall, the Lake District, Scotland, Italy - her determination, her creativity. And her swimming! Her love of water; the bath, swimming pools, the sea, rivers, lakes.

I have many wonderful lasting memories and images of Becky. Currently, the most powerful is from August 2016 swimming in Llyn Cau, three quarters of the way up Cader Idris, in Snowdonia; a place she loved. It is 2,000 feet above sea level, and very cold. I last three minutes, whereas Becky, with her astonishing capacity to enjoy icy water, could swim there for what seemed like hours. On that occasion, she swam to an outcrop of rock across the Llyn and climbed out, sat in the sun and waved across at me. She was waving, she is waving, she will continue to wave.