John Lennon replies. 1969.

I was reading your letter and wondering what middle aged cranky beatle fan it was who wrote it. I resisted looking at the the last page to find out. I kept thinking who it was, Queenie? Stuart’s mother? Clive Epstein’s wife? Alan Williams? What the hell, its Linda!

Wot the hell, it’s Linda! Read the rest of this entry »

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Hey Bulldog.

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This anonymous comment on Secret Diary of Steve Jobs really faked me out … so cool, so coolly evil at the same time.

I’ve always wanted to ask Paul, So how do you feel about the fact that the Beatles are dying in order of coolness, and there’s only you and Ringo left?

You are genius-bad. Whoever you are.

Charming intro, one senses, to a return to authenticity for Paul. No doubt we have Miss Tacky-Nighties to thank. I know I feel better about the man than I have in years … it’s palpable, age, genuine good spirits, never mind the bloody talent. The test will be, shall he have to dis John Lennon again.

Redemption lives in the strangest corners of our lives.

Sometimes the best stuff goes on at someone else’s blog. You know, kind of like the way some couples fight at other people’s houses.

Like this poor guy, making his helpful little Liberal remarks. I can pick a fight with anybody. Particularly the well-meaning, whose very springboard is All Wrong. Bamboo slivers neath the nails. Bring ‘em on. Read the rest of this entry »

I just gotta be a smartass. Don’t I. Why can’t I just say, Thank you. Especially to the readers of my feed, for I have discovered—much to my horror—that New Blogger spits out a feed entry each time you republish, and republish one does, as one learns the ins and outs of steadfastly remaining Classic in a Semi-Beta world. Which probably makes no sense to anyone not on Blogger; suffice it to say, it’s completely nuts here, yet return I did, and from the even nuttier world of WordPress and—I can hardly type the letters—the nightmare of HTML-wrapped PHP. Read the rest of this entry »

Lovely piece in the Washington Post the other day about Paul, his new oratio is it, and of course the writing trailed off into all else that has happened and is happening—then gathered on this marvellous ending note, this opening up into the night but also into what must be, still, a wonderful heart. An antic moment that seemed very much of the Beatles as they were, and perhaps part of McCartney’s genius is that this has never changed. I would imagine so. Read the rest of this entry »