WAKE up feeling as though Blind Pew is tip-tapping around my skull trying to get out. I should have stuck to the mild on that early birthday celebration down the Legion last night. But pensioners' happy hour and those cheap doubles that Macca and Allan Williams bought did for me.
8.35am Go downstairs and Yoko has a face on her like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Gives me down the banks for getting in late and mistaking her new work of art for a toilet seat and, well, you can guess the rest. Must remember to pick up those new specs when I go into town later - I suppose that given my age the expression granny glasses has finally become appropriate. Incidentally, Yoko over boils my egg and leaves my soldiers unbuttered as a punishment.
8.45am Sit down with icebag on my head and pick up the Daily Post. Yoko of course has already flipped through it - she's a big fan of Phil Key's Arts Diary and was especially keen to read his review of her new exhibition, The History of the Brown Paper Bag, which is on at the View 2 in Mathew Street. That may partly explain why she's got such a cob on.
Thanks for that, Phil. Anyway, let's talk about how I read the news today. Oh Boy. Never mind the four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire. We've got about three times more than that with the city council and their flaming Big Dig at the moment. And I see they're still harping on about preserving the city's heritage while simultaneously thinking about knocking Ringo's house down. Typical. They never had much time for me and the lads up until a few years ago which is why they filled the old Cavern in.
Mind you, I can see their point about Ringo's old gaff. I went round there once and it was in a right old state. Nothing like Mimi's on Menlove. By the way, I went there on one of those guided tours last week. Had my Inspector Clouseau disguise on so none of those obsessive tourists could recognise me. Stood in my old bedroom and thought about how times change. Brought a tear to me eye. I'm a soft owld get, sometimes.
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