In those 38 years, I never really believed I'd actually see him. He didn't tour this country often and, when he did, the shows sold out before most people heard about it. He spent years and years in a monastery. And then, well, let's be honest, he is knocking on a bit.
So last year, when he embarked on his world tour, I couldn't quite believe I had tickets and part of me was convinced that one of us would die before the event. When we were both spared, and I was watching him in July at Edinburgh Castle, the disbelief remained - that I was actually there, that he was such a genius, that he was so adored. Come November, when I saw him in Glasgow, there was still a touch of disbelief there.
But I'd seen him and that was enough. I'd seen him twice and I was satisfied with that. Each performance was note perfect. Nothing could better that.
I'd bought the tickets for last night's concert months ago via Ticketzone and had the confirmation email saying they should be received 7 days before the event. They weren't received. I rang Ticketzone and they told me tickets had been despatched on the 6th July and mine must have been lost in the post. 'Just go to box office and collect duplicates,' I was told. So we arrived at the arena and joined the short queue for the box office. A steward came along and said: 'Anyone collecting tickets ordered through Ticketzone needs to join the queue over there.' Eh? We looked in horror at the queue that almost circled the arena. However, we joined the queue and, to pass time, people started chatting. It seemed that everyone in that queue had been told the same thing - tickets were despatched on the 6th and yours must have been lost in the post. Um, I don't think so. Royal Mail might be crap, but they're not that crap. People were getting irate, convinced that Ticketzone had deliberately not sent out tickets to save on postage. I wasn't irate because I've used Ticketzone dozens of times in the past and never had problems. And hey, we were about to see The Sainted One.
So, I'm walking into the arena, tickets clutched tightly in my hand, when I see a woman with a placard. What? A demonstration at a Leonard Cohen concert? Whatever next? Did she object to his 'peace and love to all men except greedy, power-crazed, war-mongering world leaders' views? I read her placard: Why would a poet play Gaza? She was dishing out leaflets and strode over to me saying 'Tell Leonard Cohen not to go to Israel!' I stared at her in disbelief and growing anger - 'Tell Leonard ... (splutter, splutter) ... No! Mr Cohen is more than capable of making his own decisions.' Pah. I do wish people wouldn't try to force their opinions on me.
Anyway, the concert was amazing. I've seen lots of bands in my time - some big names like The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, etc. - but I've never known anyone get such a long standing ovation just for turning up. The man is adored by his many, many fans, and rightly so. The band members, all nine of them, are on stage and ready to go. Then Leonard Cohen strides on, waits until he can be heard over the applause, and then sings with the energy and passion of a man 50 years younger. He dances, yes dances off stage, takes a fifteen minute break, and then dances back to the stage. Apart from that break, he's on stage for three hours. Just amazing.
He jokes about how, now he's old, people ask him for advice and how the best thing he can tell them is not to look in those illuminated mirrors they put in hotel rooms. While the audience is still smiling, he says 'We're very privileged to be together in this place when so much of the world is in chaos' and goes straight into Anthem:
Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.
He is 74 years old. 74! He'll be in Norway tomorrow and Friday. Then he has four nights in Dublin, followed by a night in Belfast. This will be followed by concerts in Portugal, Spain, Italy and Turkey. Then it's back to Spain, followed by France, Austria, Slovakia, Czech Republic and Hungary. September takes him to Romania and Spain again. Unbelievable.
As for the irritating woman who thinks everyone should tell him not to go to Israel, perhaps she should bear in mind that, back in 1969, he penned this:
Like a bird on a wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir,
I have tried in my way to be free.
I think free is the important word there, dear.
