excuse me, I must go and jump on his head
Someone in one of the Beatles communities I belong to posted a link to George's story. I'd never read it before, and it's really cute. The other three wrote stories as well, for some fan magazine apparently.
George
I remember the first time I ever met Paul was on the bus home from school. He was sitting laughing to himself. I thought, "We've a right case here,"and then I realised he could see his own reflection in the window. Well, I thought, that explains it!
After all that has happened to us we've not many ambitions yet unfulfilled. I have one though, to design a guitar myself, and have it called 'The Harrison.' I'd like to play as well as Duane Eddy or Chet Atkins. I wish I could compose like John and Paul.
Awww, Georgie. ♥
John
Just because I am married doesn't mean that the other three are about to pop the question. In fact any of you who are wondering about this can relax. So far there is no great opposition to you, and I'll let you know if I hear any news on the contrary.
(I wonder why he says his mother died before his fourteenth birthday. Julia died in July, 1958, so he would have been 17. He met Paul in 1957. Of course, in the introduction to In His Own Write, Paul wrote that he and John were twelve when they first met, so I'm thinking I shouldn't put too much thought into this.)
Paul
- likes sleeping and "any kind" of girls. hee.
Ringo just threw a wet flannel at George's head. About five minutes later the blow penetrated through the thick growth thereon.
"What did you do that for?"
"Because today is Sunday," Ringo replied.
We get pelted with jelly babies during the First House tonight. Actually, we don't really like jelly babies any more. You can have too much of a good thing, and for the past few months we've been ploughing through tons of jelly babies...I must say we prefer steak as a staple diet that is. Not that we want you to start throwing raw or cooked steak onto the stage. I reckon they'd ban us from the theatres through the country if you did that.
Ringo
It was pretty nearly oblivion forever, so they tell me. The doctors from Liverpool Children's Hospital informed my parents that I was going to die. But I didn't die. Somewhere in my subconscious I must have known I was destined to be a Beatle. Well, how could I go and leave the other three idiots to roam the world looking for the perfect drummer?
After a Liverpool show I usually go to the Blue Angel Club in Seale Street. It's nice in there, you can have a drink and a chat. They've got long sofas with a brass coffee tables in front of them, and I meet my friends in there. Sometimes we play poker, but mostly we just sit and talk. I never feel tired after a show, and I'm still leaping when the others are dozing off. (A habit that annoys them, I can tell you!) The other night George was having a sly kip between shows, when I dashed into the room and fell over him.
"Ringo," he yelled, "Do you have to leap on my head?"
"Well," I retorted, "Do you have to sleep on the floor? Are you a dog?"
"Yes," he growled, and bit me.
That reminds me, I saw George piling cushions and rugs into a corner of the wings just now. I bet he's snoozing. Excuse me, I must go and jump on his head. See you!
I keep forgetting to mention: I've got a new plant. Chrysanthemum. I was thinking of "Rocky Raccoon" when I named it, so I came up with Nancy. It seems a bit big for the pot, but there isn't much I can do about that until springtime. Hopefully it'll make it. Mitch is still alive and kicking. *knock on wood*
ETA: Just because I like to repeat myself sometimes: Giles Martin is dashing. He looks like a fairy tale prince or something. Like he rides a white horse and wears a tabard and carries a sword & shield. Perhaps composes music (on his lute/mandolin/what-have-you) in between slaying dragons and rescuing maidens.
George
I remember the first time I ever met Paul was on the bus home from school. He was sitting laughing to himself. I thought, "We've a right case here,"and then I realised he could see his own reflection in the window. Well, I thought, that explains it!
After all that has happened to us we've not many ambitions yet unfulfilled. I have one though, to design a guitar myself, and have it called 'The Harrison.' I'd like to play as well as Duane Eddy or Chet Atkins. I wish I could compose like John and Paul.
Awww, Georgie. ♥
John
Just because I am married doesn't mean that the other three are about to pop the question. In fact any of you who are wondering about this can relax. So far there is no great opposition to you, and I'll let you know if I hear any news on the contrary.
(I wonder why he says his mother died before his fourteenth birthday. Julia died in July, 1958, so he would have been 17. He met Paul in 1957. Of course, in the introduction to In His Own Write, Paul wrote that he and John were twelve when they first met, so I'm thinking I shouldn't put too much thought into this.)
Paul
- likes sleeping and "any kind" of girls. hee.
Ringo just threw a wet flannel at George's head. About five minutes later the blow penetrated through the thick growth thereon.
"What did you do that for?"
"Because today is Sunday," Ringo replied.
We get pelted with jelly babies during the First House tonight. Actually, we don't really like jelly babies any more. You can have too much of a good thing, and for the past few months we've been ploughing through tons of jelly babies...I must say we prefer steak as a staple diet that is. Not that we want you to start throwing raw or cooked steak onto the stage. I reckon they'd ban us from the theatres through the country if you did that.
Ringo
It was pretty nearly oblivion forever, so they tell me. The doctors from Liverpool Children's Hospital informed my parents that I was going to die. But I didn't die. Somewhere in my subconscious I must have known I was destined to be a Beatle. Well, how could I go and leave the other three idiots to roam the world looking for the perfect drummer?
After a Liverpool show I usually go to the Blue Angel Club in Seale Street. It's nice in there, you can have a drink and a chat. They've got long sofas with a brass coffee tables in front of them, and I meet my friends in there. Sometimes we play poker, but mostly we just sit and talk. I never feel tired after a show, and I'm still leaping when the others are dozing off. (A habit that annoys them, I can tell you!) The other night George was having a sly kip between shows, when I dashed into the room and fell over him.
"Ringo," he yelled, "Do you have to leap on my head?"
"Well," I retorted, "Do you have to sleep on the floor? Are you a dog?"
"Yes," he growled, and bit me.
That reminds me, I saw George piling cushions and rugs into a corner of the wings just now. I bet he's snoozing. Excuse me, I must go and jump on his head. See you!
I keep forgetting to mention: I've got a new plant. Chrysanthemum. I was thinking of "Rocky Raccoon" when I named it, so I came up with Nancy. It seems a bit big for the pot, but there isn't much I can do about that until springtime. Hopefully it'll make it. Mitch is still alive and kicking. *knock on wood*
ETA: Just because I like to repeat myself sometimes: Giles Martin is dashing. He looks like a fairy tale prince or something. Like he rides a white horse and wears a tabard and carries a sword & shield. Perhaps composes music (on his lute/mandolin/what-have-you) in between slaying dragons and rescuing maidens.
