Who knows where the time goes?

I was talking to Judy Collins a couple of days ago ( I can do name dropping with the best of 'em) who is a truly lovely lady.

After nigh on half a century in the business she can still produce one of the purest voices in music - Vanity Fair recently called her The Voice, much to her delight - and is still producing new work and touring as well as bringing on new artists with her own record company, Wildflower, long after she became eligible for a bus pass.

Life has not been an easy ride. She has had bulimia, battled with alcoholism and depression and she saw her only son commit suicide at the age of 33 after a history of drink, drugs and depression.

Showing both our ages I recalled seeing her in early November in 1966 at Manchester's Free Trade Hall where she was appearing with Tom Paxton.

Paxton, who you suspect has always looked like your favourite uncle even as a teenager, was the star, Collins the support. She appeared in a long, evening dress - anything long was posh in those days - looking nothing like a folk singer. The concert was a few days after the Aberfan disaster and Collins sang The Bells of Rhymney, Pete Seeger's bitter anthem of the valleys based on the poem by former Welsh miner Idris Davies. Some moments stick in your mind for ever. That was one of them.

I will be meeting up with her again at Wolverhampton Civic Hall where she is appearing on Sunday so look out for the review.