Ever mapping the impossible-to-map time of now in her work, taking responsibility for it urgently and insistently in the face of a pervasive complacency she never failed to expose, Leslie lived her own present no differently. Her generosity to its incidents, accidents, threats and surprises was rare indeed and made spending time with her a vitalising experience. The most intense time I spent with her was for two days in London in 2004, initially doing an hour radio show for Resonance FM as part of the 'Up For Air' series, and then, the next day, a gruelling 10-hour recording session for her Stem CD. From the moment I met her and her wonderful husband Tom off the train at St Pancras two hours before the show, I was worried the schedule would be too much; she was visibly in pain from an enduring back problem, pillow-prop clenched tightly at her side at all times, but never once did this affect her commitment to her work as she variously performed it over that time. After huge bowls of noodle soup, and a precarious climb up the narrow, vertical Resonance studio steps, she did the show. In reading, in speaking, she would lean forward with that engaging intensity, just more than whispering her persistent, testing, explorations into placing thinking well, language both her means and combatant. Delightfully, interrupting that focus, there'd often come the most explosive laugh, accompanied by widening, sparkling eyes, as her down-to earth humour kicked in. My sound engineer Chris was won over instantly.

Days in London with Leslie often began and ended in the salubrious lobby of the Berners Hotel just north of Oxford St and it was there I met her at 8:30am the morning after her radio show to travel up to Turnpike Lane and the home of composer John Wall to record her Stem CD. As she walked, hunched, up the busy north London street, again I worried that all this would prove too much but, professional to the core, Leslie was at her sock-covered mike (sibilance was proving a problem) for most of that day, working chronologically through her books, laying down a range she entrusted me to edit later. Each time, having set up the recording equipment, John and I would leave her in his small back room to read while we repaired downstairs for tea and chat, Leslie's hum from the bedroom window above accompanying our musings. We ate a late lunch, drank more tea, and finally by 9:00pm she was done. It was her who immediately suggested we go out to the nearest Indian, and then the laughter really started. I'll miss her.

Rob Holloway