Not the comedy Messiah, but he was certainly a very lovely guy

The first time I saw Terry Jones in the flesh was towards the end of his career when the Pythons announced they would be reuniting for a farewell performance in 2014.

The gang assembled on stage in a West End theatre, and if anyone stood out, I’d say it was Jones. He smirked and giggled and signalled a kind of juvenile delight at the absurdity of a situation that felt completely natural.

When it came to the opening night, Jones was reliant on cue cards for some of the show, and sometimes seemed a little lost – a harbinger of what was to follow. But what I remember most was his unpretentious enjoyment at what they had achieved together; we basked in it. If he wasn’t comedy’s Messiah, he was a very lovely fellow – and his contribution to the Python phenomenon was as vast as Mr Creosote’s belly.

It might seem invidious to play one Python off against the others, but Jones’s involvement was plainly indispensable. Where Palin offered charm akin to a schoolmaster partaking in japes, there was a raw rascally mischief to the Welshman.

Cleese majored in uptightness, Idle in sly subversion, Chapman in aloof insinuation; Gilliam was the behindthe-scenes maverick. But Jones was the gel that helped the troupe cohere into an anarchic gang.

His gift for caricatured female impersonation reached its apotheosis with the squawking waitress in “Spam” and Brian’s mother in Life of Brian. These days, it’s unlikely that such politically incorrect stereotyping would go unchallenged – and yet Jones’s scampish aura lent it no malice at all.