Gina Galea, who passed away on April 19, was a barrel of laughs.

I realised how outrageous she was when we spent three days together in Brussels, the group being headed by Michelle Muscat.

Without being hurtful, her husband was the object of her jokes although, one day, all serious she told me that though she and her husband were no spring chickens, she used to kiss his pillow when he went to work. I found that so very endearing and such definite proof of how much she loved him.

Even though she was 68, Gina had none of the usual wrinkles on her face. She was stunningly beautiful with blonde hair, a peaches and cream complexion and a character that attracted friends to her all longing to hear her jokes.

At the Labour headquarters, one would have certainly found Gina helping out, doing one thing or another. Her willingness to help, however, extended beyond the Labour headquarters, reaching out to people.

I guess that’s what made her so unique, lending a helping hand to people she hardly knew even if she received a sheaf of arrows as a reward. That was Gina. A person one could not help loving.

Goodbye lovely Gina, inside and out. Be seeing you. Death is not a full stop but a comma.