Somewhere around 1969/1970, I shared a flat in Clapham (Sarf London) with 3 guys - Chris D, John Mc and Peter S.
Bloody tiny place. 2 rooms plus kitchen and bathroom.
Not 2 rooms plus 2 bedrooms plus kitchen plus bathroom.
2 rooms plus kitchen and bathroom.
Euphemistically called a "garden flat", which meant it was virtually subterranean. Cue for a song.
I moved out west in 1970 and we sort of kept in touch and then didn't (as one does. Or doesn't)
And then I get an email from Chris D, who's still flogging carpets for a living and pretending sales is a really tough job, when we all known that it really only involves is taking your customers out and getting them and yourself pissed.
He must be really good at the former, anyway, because he's got this mansion on the edge of the Cotswolds and I'm glad to see that he appears to be doing very nicely indeed.
Anyway, we get around to reminiscing about old times as one does at our age and he mentions the Beatles story which is a bit worrying, because I didn't have a clue what he was on about and you do tend to think your mind's going on occasion.
I remembered the whorehouse in the flat above us featuring a bevy of West Indian beauties and the couple in the flat above the whorehouse who went to Europe for the first time and - seeing duvets (also for the first time) - complained that the beds hadn't been made and John Mc's 21st birthday party to which he invited Princess Anne (who surprisingly didn't front up) and at which I got immensely drunk and disappeared, to be found sometime later pelting passing cars with snowballs made from the first snow I'd seen in my life and Peter S's sexual exploits with all and sundry.
But I didn't remember the Beatles bit.
Chris tells the story thus:
When we first moved in to Gauden Road there was a smell of incense , you may recall that they went through their meditation period with the Maharaja or whatever his name was, anyway it turned out that our place in Gauden Road was used as a temple with the fab four regular visitors.
When we first moved, in we were going through the cupboards and there were several returned cheques, as was the normal practice in those days; when the cheque had been cashed they returned it to you for your records.
THERE WERE CHEQUES FROM ALL FOUR OF THEM & WE THREW THEM AWAY!!!!!
(Must go and have a lie down)
Bloody hell, I would too.
Not sure what sombre music would be appropriate - Lowell George's "Easy Money"?
"Hello Goodbye" is as good as any, perhaps.