A personal appreciation of Alan Ruddock

In the flurry of high and heartening tributes to Alan Ruddock since his death, much has deservedly been said about what my father calls “Alan’s grace and talent,” but what I remember most
is that he was great fun to be with. He had not long been in London when we met, in January 1987, working together on Today, the new colour newspaper. He was immediately likeable and usually ready for a bit of a party. We conducted an extensive and time-consuming survey of the pubs – all of them – within striking distance of our office and sampled a great many restaurants, from the fine to the terrible. His enthusiasm never waned. We both had an interest in wine – mine shallow and undisciplined, his remarkably informed for a 27-year-old – and he introduced me to the Tate Gallery’s restaurant, round the corner from Today’s Pimlico office, where we found it hysterically funny to drink them dry of some of their finest, but absurdly under-priced, vintages. It was even funnier that we claimed for these extravagances on our expenses.
He was generous and mischievous in equal measure. When I was approached to edit the City page of The Sun a few months later I had to write a couple of sample stories so the editor could see if I had the red-top touch. Ruddock thought about this for a few minutes, when I told him, and said: “Try the phrase ‘spend-crazy Britons’. I don’t think it’s been used before.” The editor liked it and I got the job. Alan took over from me as Today’s stock market columnist just as the world learned that Sir Ralph Halpern, head of Burton Group and reportedly Britain’s highest-paid executive, had been cavorting with a young woman. Famously, a banana had been involved. Long after the story died down, Rudddock took great delight in relentlessly referring to Halpern as “Banana Boy” in his stock market column (to Halpern’s fury).
After he became ill with Hodgkins in 1989, I did not hear Ruddock complain once, except to say that it was a bore not being able to taste wine properly. When his hair started to suffer from the medication, he laughed and said: “I think I’ll shave it off when it looks like the mice have been at it.”
It has been a constant source of regret over the years that I did not stay in closer contact with him and now that is too late to fix. In our last email exchanges, a few weeks before his death, he was lavishly and typically complimentary about something truly inconsequential I had written. Although he seemed able to spot the weaknesses in people with extraordinary acuity, Alan chose to look instead for their strengths. We should all be more like him.

Damien McCrystal