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All things must pass

George Harrison's death, one year ago, triggered memories of a rollercoaster ride of childhood infatuation and adolescent denial. I have finally made peace with the Beatles fan within

By Frances Welch   December 2002

The Beatles entered my life when I was five. I remember standing on the grass verge of a country road in Somerset with my forceful friend Fiona Smith. Fiona was, once again, persecuting me with unanswerable questions.

“Who’s your favourite Beatle?” she asked.

I was out of my depth. But I remember a picture of the Beatles being produced and finding myself faced with the ordeal of a choice.

“Paul’s my favourite,” she said, pointing to one with worryingly large eyes and definite eyebrows.

“You can’t have the same one as me,” she said, as my finger hovered over…

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