FORGIVE me if this column strikes a sombre note.

On Monday I joined dozens of mourners saying farewell to one of Salisbury’s former mayors, Andrew Roberts.

A gifted lawyer, he died at 54 of cancer, leaving a young family. Cruel circumstances. And yet the tone of the service was upbeat, one of loving, humorous reminiscence of a man who inspired affection and respect in political allies and foes alike, as evidenced by the cross-party presence on the pews.

I wasn’t a personal friend, just someone who dealt with him in the course of journalistic business. I went because I liked and admired him for his genuine kindness, gentle humour, and the cool intelligence, coupled with an unshakeable sense of right and wrong, that he followed wherever it led him – at times to some very uncomfortable places.

I didn’t always agree with him. He supported the merger of the reluctant Laverstock and Ford parish with the cash-strapped city council and I told him you shouldn’t override people’s democratically expressed views, no matter how much logical or financial sense you think it makes.

He enjoyed a good-humoured argument and didn’t take opposition personally.

A few weeks ago I attended the funeral of former councillor Cheryl Hill, another fearless free thinker, and someone who worked tirelessly to help launch the Salisbury Transition City group because she cared about the environment.

n Salisbury is not so blessed with independent-minded public-spirited individuals that it can afford to lose them.

It would be nice to think that the spirit of co-operation and harmony that prevails on occasions such as their funerals could linger on as their legacy to civic life.

Speaking of politics, if your brain, like mine, gets befuddled occasionally by so much stuff that isn’t ultimately very important, may I recommend a detox?

Try what’s grandly called a ‘mini cruise’ on Brittany Ferries with Orca, the charity working to protect Europe’s whales and dolphins.

Sailing from Portsmouth to Santander (and unfortunately back via Plymouth and a coach ride) gives you 48 hours to contemplate the hypnotic expanse of grey sea, fortunately calm on this occasion, with nothing more urgent to do than rush in a binocular-toting gaggle across the top deck as expert volunteers point out the various species.

The trip’s purpose is a population survey, and we recorded 800 creatures, among them common and striped dolphins, Risso’s dolphin, Cuvier’s beaked whales, fin and minke whales, harbour porpoise, tuna galore, and a passing turtle.

That’s not even counting the seabirds.

Not that I prised myself out of my bunk early enough to spot everything. 6am seemed to be the most productive time!

Truly a restorative experience. And as Orca puts it: “If we can’t look after animals as awe-inspiring, enigmatic and downright remarkable as whales and dolphins, what can we do?”

I should never have looked at my phone.

Stupidly I did, just once, only to see the BBC headline: “Whale hunt in Faroe Islands turns sea red with blood.”

That’s twice this week I’ve had tears in my eyes.

anneriddle36@gmail.com