This is a Donald Trump-free zone. This is a Nigel Farage-free zone. This is a Brexit-free zone. Oh dear! I’ve just realised that this is the end of this week’s column because what else is there to talk about?

I could mention the latest horrendous earthquake in New Zealand. From that will come stories of horror and heroism.

I got an email from a friend on Monday, however, to tell me that shares in one of the country’s biggest building contractors had risen sharply because of people cashing in on the rebuilding that is going to be needed.

What a way to make money! But I guess plenty of people have become millionaires through others’ misery, not least during times of war.

Which does lead me on to one positive thing that has happened this week.

I attended the Remembrance Service in Maryport.

It was a cold, wet day and around 450 people turned out. There were young parents with babes in arms, children, middle-aged people, elderly people – they were all there.

We promised to remember and, 100 years since the First World War, we still remember.

The only tragedy is that we don’t just remember those from WW1 or WW2 but also those who have died in recent years as the world continues to be torn by conflict.

I never imagined, growing up, that I would interview the family of a soldier who died in conflict, but I have.

And on Sunday, as I thought about the soldiers from wars gone by, I also thought about the brave and inspiring mother and daughter of Sgt David Monkhouse of Aspatria. “Bob”, as he was called, was killed in Afghanistan in 2010.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when those we remember are all part of history and nothing to do with today.

Talking about Remembrance, I will never forget going to London to see Leonard Cohen at Wembley a couple of years ago.

With my eye problems, he was just a little dot on the stage and I spent most of my time staring at the large TV screen. But at least I had the joy of knowing I was in the presence of the man who helped me and my fellow journalist students put the world to rights while drinking cherry brandy and listening to his profound, if sometimes hard-to-fathom, lyrics.

I never saw Elvis but I did see Leonard Cohen.

If this column has a point (which I doubt), it is probably to seize the day.

I got a call from my sister on Sunday night telling me she would never say no to an opportunity again.

She didn’t come with me to see Leonard Cohen and she didn’t come with me when I returned to our childhood home in Zambia for a holiday earlier this year.

“I am never going to say no again, I will never see Leonard Cohen now,” she informed me.

I know what she means. We never know what is around the corner. I think the spate of celebrity deaths of all ages this year has taught us that.

And on Remembrance Sunday we paid tribute to people who died so that we may live – and we owe it to them to live life to the full.