Mr P

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I've always had mentors. Usually men, usually older, people who taught me how to think about something, but not what to think.

The first real one was David Palmer, an english teacher who taught me far more outside of the classroom than in it - about art, history, literature, and the way politics and academia really works.

One of the few "grownups" who treated us teenagers as capable of rational thought - not that we always were - and who listened when we knew about something he didn't.

It was him who suggested I "try reading some philosophy", on what may have been our first meeting. I think the last time we met, he predicted I'd end up one of those people who never got a degree, but was always in demand as an expert.

In a strange way he was right - though ten years later I eventually got a masters in his field - art history. A subject I still know almost nothing about - I spent the whole course reading some philosophy instead.

I admit I did rather monopolise his time - even when he had better things to do, like helping a suddenly homeless older student get his life back. The student later became another mentor, and another one was the ex-boyfriend of Mr Palmer's daughter, which is probably quite strange.

Yes, he died recently. On January 5th, and I just heard about it. He must have been 82 or thereabouts. I always meant to thank him, but never got around to it. I think he knew anyway.

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