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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