I'd love to speak with Leonard

I('d) love to speak with Leonard

Tonight I got as close as I'll ever get, 11 rows back in Wembley Arena. He's been a major (and minor, of course) theme in the soundtrack of my life for the last 44 years and I shared my third concert, like the previous ones, with a friend I've known only slightly longer.

Although he skipped on and off the stage he is frailer, in body and voice, than four years ago in London's O2 but he is still a poet of all human emotion, a warm and humble musician unafraid to surround himself with exceptional talent, and a generous performer. For some reason, possibly because they first heard him in angsty adolescence and then stopped paying attention, many people think he is depressed and depressing. Far, far from it and we shared in his wry humour this evening.

If you don't already get it no words of mine can help you. Try his.

My indulgent week - two and a half days at the Paralympics, the Thames Festival, the Royal Shakespeare Company's African production of Julius Caesar and tonight's poignant concert - has been my summer holiday. After fabulous weather all week the rain started on my late journey home. Autumn now. I will start catching up with journals.

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