The British journalist who covered the Beatles in their prime (and to whom a certain Beatle made his infamous comment about the relative popularity of Jesus Christ) recently wrote an absorbing remembrance of John for the Telegraph. Do read.
People sometimes ask what they were like and the answer is – more fun than anyone else and terrible teases. The interviewer was outnumbered four to one: they might put your coat in the wastepaper basket, offer to marry you, seize your notebook and pencil, pick you up and put you somewhere else, demand you cut their hair. In hotel rooms, John’s favourite game was shuffling his feet on the carpet, then touching you on the cheek to give you a mild electric shock. On the other hand they were kindly disposed, offering you cigarettes or a swig from their bottles of Coke, making sure you never got left behind. “Come on, Thingy,” they’d bawl when it was time to move. They’d get you a taxi. Once I thought the driver was taking an odd way home, hardly surprising as they’d told him, “10 Downing Street”.