Last updated at 13:12, Monday, 08 December 2008

ON a list of things to do before I die, living to be at least 100 years-old would be top.

There are other items but not many. Seeing if a stamp bought at auction a few years ago really is worth the £15,000 I think it is would be another but it’s no big deal if it isn’t.

I feel no great urgency to toboggan down the Matterhorn or swim with dolphins.

However, when a dark suited 74 year-old man walked slowly onto the stage wearing his trademark hat at the MEN Arena in Manchester last week I realised there had been another thing on my “must see” list.

After a 15-year absence, forced back on the road following his former manager syphoning $5m from his pension plan, Leonard Cohen’s ocean-deep baritone flowed through the hall with Dance Me to the End of Love.

Judged in terms of “hit” records, Cohen, often deemed depressing by those that don’t get the joke, is none too successful.

Judged by his 40-year back catalogue of music that has bridged the gap between poet and singer like no other, the man has no peer.

Songs of Leonard Cohen (1968), written when he was 33, was one of the first albums I ever bought and despite my tender years, was smitten from the outset and so began a life-long addiction.

Over the years Mrs L has suffered in silence but the “Ladies Man” won her over before the bars of the first song had died away.

Suzanne, So Long Marianne and a bass-driven high-voltage First We Take Manhattan brought the MEN to its feet and thousands smiled as Len sang the line in Tower of Song “I was born with the gift of a golden voice.”

For me it was a near spiritual experience and when the stage turned a fetching shade of cyan and he sang Famous Blue Raincoat I knew I could die happy.

WITH not so much a squeak or scratch of anything approaching rodent activity, some semblance of normality has returned to the household.

No longer do I precede Mrs L by banging on the door and switching on all the lights as we enter a room.

She was expecting hordes of mice scuttling for cover as we went into the kitchen and I was a bit disappointed at the no show, despite my leaving the occasional raisin as a little treat.

Apart from the odd false alarm we have returned to Defcon4. ever wary but not at high alert.

“Did you hear that?” she said.

“Hear what?”

“That. It’s that scratching noise again.”

Out of her seat Mrs L was again eyeing the corner with fearful suspicion.

Still, anything for a quiet life I dutifully inspected nooks and crannies for any uninvited guests, only to discover the fridge was the probable source.

“It’s the fridge,” I said.

“Are you sure?” said a wary Mrs L, convinced I am operating some sort of cover-up for my mice chums, “I wouldn’t put past you to be feeding them nuts.”

Actually they prefer raisins.

First published at 11:48, Monday, 08 December 2008
Published by http://www.nwemail.co.uk