Having been away from Bristol for the whole of August I am writing this on my way home on a slow hot train from war-torn Belgrade to glorious Budapest on the River Danube.

I am much distracted by hilarious company in a carriage with a Slovac, a Macedonian, a Hungarian, a Serb and an Aussie – there must be a joke in there somewhere.

I hate prejudice, especially when one thinks of the Balkans and all the hatred and suffering that they have been through, but I confess to having judged a railway official on the train to Belgrade as being typically 'Serb' when he tried to grossly overcharge me for a couchette.

A Serb passenger shrugged his shoulders and said "it is the Serb way".

However I am pleased to say that this first impression of 'the Serb way' has been delightfully reversed by some very friendly Serbs I have met since – reminding me that we should never write off a nation by the behaviour of a few.

It being extremely hot I unscrewed some stuck windows with my trusty penknife – which of course I could not have taken with me if flying.

Just imagine the reaction if I had unscrewed windows on a First Great Western train – but the smiling Serbian guard seemed to regard it as helpful – and my fellow passengers were extremely grateful.

As much as I am enjoying my journey home, I shall sadly return this weekend to find Bristol in one respect a poorer place for the loss of one of its most colourful characters, Dale Piennar, who was buried last week.

I am very sorry to have missed Dale's funeral on Wednesday, which by all accounts was a celebration of his eccentric lifestyle, with everyone encouraged to wear a flamboyant hat, in the style to which he became so accustomed.

I have known Dale for 36 years. He lived in a flat above our architectural studios in Great George Street and became something of an office mascot.

He was an incorrigible magpie, collecting the most extraordinary array of memorabilia, some of which spilled out onto our stairs to the mystification of our clients.

Every wall and surface of his small flat was covered in ornaments to the extent that if he asked anyone in for a 'small glass of sherry' he would have to clear a chair to let them sit down. He even spread them out on his bed by day!

Dale was delightfully 'camp', speaking in his characteristic whispered tone with a trace of his native South African accent. He was great company and had a wicked sense of humour – sometimes outrageous – bringing amusement and surprise wherever he went.

I feel fortunate to have known Dale and seen his eccentricity mature with age, marked by his brightly coloured trousers, patterned shirts, ornate jewellery, unique hats, walking stick and wicked smile.

One of his great passions was St George's Brandon Hill, next to our office, on which we have been working for 25 years or so, where he was often to be seen at concerts and events.

His last act was to ask for donations to the St George's Music Trust that is at the heart of Bristol's music scene and is internationally recognised as a great chamber music venue.

Every city and community has its own eccentrics, and the world is a much more interesting place for them.

Lets hope that for every eccentric that disappears, another two are born and that they dispel the perception that the English are reserved – a prejudice that I like to try to correct a little on my travels!