macca and aimes in Liverpool

Good Morning, Good Evening macca-buddies here there and everywhere;

To share the events of my latest encounter is for me part of the joy
of the entire experience. This is my story as I lived it and as I
recall it. Please be advised that I have exercised poetic license
and freedom of speech and some of my choice of words or expression
may be offensive to some. Many people have their own tale and I will let
them tell it if they choose to. So if you care to, grab your favorite drink
and get in your most comfortable chair..

I just opened my suitcase to let spill forth all of Liverpool that
I could cram in there. My daughters were excited to see what treats
mummy had brought home and suddenly the reality of what I
just had experienced filled my eyes with tears. 

I'm nucking futs.

Friday the 16th of March, 2001 was the day I started out to Liverpool. My flight from
Orlando was delayed. An overnight layover in Chicago was only the
beginning. During the day I was beginning to turn into a zombie. I
recall crowds parting as I passed and I could hear a distance voice saying
"Paul...must get to Paul...". After a long and complicated ordeal I managed
to arrive in Liverpool on Sunday evening. My trek to macca was not
going to be easy.

The Adelphi was as ever, beautiful and warm. Several
listers met me there. Together we headed to WHSmith
to see what or wasn't happening. There was no one there. On
the window were 3 small signs.

Sir Paul McCartney
Wednesday 21st, March 2001
Please queue this way
<--------------------

In the morning I planted my self in front of the first sign.
Daybreak was just beginning and people were starting to
pass on their way to work. High above me the gulls cried.
Several people from the store arrived and soon the window
washer came and started chatting with me. He told me I was
nuts. He couldn't understand why someone from Florida would
be standing in the cold in Liverpool. Near 9 A.M., my pal Nancy came
with a look that spoke volumes. Again I questioned my sanity,
just the first of many times believe me. I walked back with
Nancy and joined Marilyn and Sharon for breakfast.

At some point we met up with two other die hard macca pals.
Together we strolled to LIPA where we tried to get in for a peek,
I think someone said Sutcliffe's art was on display, but security
was tight. We walked the grounds and saw the benches dedicated
to the Eastman/McCartney parents. We had drinks and lunch at Ye
Cracke House where John used to hang. Word has it he had a room,
The War Room, where he would kick anyone out when he arrived.
we sat there and soaked in John's karma.

When we went back to the store, near 5 or so, we met Naoto.
The queue had begun. Naoto lives in London but is originally from
Japan. Soon we were joined by Shuji a Japanese scouser!
He encouraged us to rest tonight and return in the morning.
My biggest fear was to come back and find there were 50 people
in the queue. But we trudged off, had a nice dinner at a nearby pub.
Unable to resist, we checked once more to find that Naoto was still there.
Others about were considering what to do. The local night creatures
convinced us once again that we would be best off to sleep tonight.
There is strength in numbers. We agreed to get up early and join
the queue at 5 A.M.

20th March, just before 5 A.M. we arrive.
There were 2 bodies in sleeping bags in front of the store.
There was actually a big space between them which we
learned later had been reserved for us. One thing I have to
say is, the Japanese are very honourable people and the
people of Liverpool are some of the nicest I've ever met,
ok, that was 2 things.

The day before we had also met with the infamous Kate, from Poland,  who joined us
shortly after 5. We were better prepared this time. In between
pubbing, queue checking, walking and eating we had bonded
with the local Army/Navy sports store. Steve, the manager,
gave us the lowdown on best sleeping bags, socks, gloves
etc. we would need for our big camp out. He thought we
were nuts too but thought it was great what we were doing.

Around 9ish, Ina, the manager of WHSmith came out and spoke
to us. She was intrigued to learn that we were all really quite
normal people with varied professional backgrounds and families.
One of her assistants, the store security director and several Liverpool
city officials told us what little they knew about how this was going to
be handled. Pretty much security was assured and we could do just
about anything we wanted in order to stay warm. By mid morning,
there were about 20 of us. Tea and coffee were  served in real mugs.
We worked as a team, taking turns to eat, go to the loo, buy provisions
and hunt for what soon became the most valuable commodity in Liverpool,
cardboard!.

By mid-day, the barricades were up and we were stockpiled with cardboard,
folding chairs and sleeping bags. I picked up some packaging tape and
Marilyn got some duct tape. We made a cardboard wall along our portion of
the barricade. Our attempt to keep us warm turned into a home decorating
party. With markers, we decorated our walls and gave our message to
the world. "We are waiting to see Paul!" we proudly displayed as hundreds
of people were asking what we were doing.  It was quite interesting.
Nancy drew blackbirds, others drew colourful signs and pictures reminiscent
of the 60's. One fellow had a guitar and we sang songs. People brought us
candy, donuts, one man gave me an audio copy of Coleman's Yesterday and
Today. The media was all over us.
Kate was quite popular, people asked for her by name. Photos and news
articles will be forth coming.

Geoff Baker showed up sometime in the afternoon. He looked grungy, unshaven,
unwashed for maybe 4 days? I wondered if Paul made him queue. He was, I have
to say quite pleasant. He greeted us all quite friendly. He asked who was
the first, took his name and told him he would famous. He told us there
would
be no wristbands as we had been doing a great job at policing ourselves.

News came to us that snow was expected sometime in the night. We decided it
would be best if we took turns resting and warming ourselves at The Adelphi.
Because of the cardboard walls and having been there so early we had prime
space. We called our quarters the penthouse suite. The camaraderie we
established amongst ourselves and those immediately around us was too cool.
It was also
this same afternoon that word came to us about the poetry reading at The
Everyman Theatre. We took a cab to the Everyman but tickets were sold out
within the hour after it was announced Paul would be there. Tickets had been
on sale for a couple of weeks.
Through word of mouth and little discretion and lots of cash a few of us
managed to get tickets. I tell you the excitement and energy was
electrifying.

It was fucking cold. The gust of winds were piercing. I had a knit insulated
cap, a scarf, hood from my jacket, five shirts/sweaters, three pairs of
pants, one
insulated,2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves and my newly acquired king
size sleeping
bag. I was fucking freezing. The warmest I could get was by closing myself
up in
the sleeping bag, head to toe and letting my own breath warm my igloo.
A few of the more colourful interesting nocturnal residents came out and two
girls
actually made themselves comfortable under Sharon's sleeping bag. Some men
started screaming at me, telling me I was fookin' nuts and then singing
(yelling)
she loves you yeah, yeah, brrrrrr....I think they thought I was a man, I
wasn't
about to reveal my true identity either.

By the time Nancy came to my rescue her voice sounded like an angel. I could
barely move. I started crying I was so happy to see her. I was so numb yet
in so much pain.
Before she came I kept thinking, "you are fookin' nuts" and I kept hearing
Paul saying "If I ever get outta here...". Nancy helped me get back to my
room. It was almost 4 a.m. and I knew I had to get back to the queue by
6 because that's when the rest of people would come. I didn't want there
to be a riot or something if someone just showed up and went straight
to the front of the queue.

At 6, still shivering, I stepped out and saw the snow. " Oh my
God, this is truly insane". When I got there, there were hundreds of people
in the queue. I felt like shit and looked like shit. We all went to the
nearby McDonald's for coffee and such. A good friend gave me some of her herbals
to ward off sickness. My throat hurt and I could feel nothing lower than the
pain of my lower back.
All of us were wet and frozen. But somehow as we drank our coffee and
started talking about what lay ahead, the excitement warmed us. Many
people were fascinated to hear about who we were and why we had come.
The media interviewed several of us.

Back at the queue Jean Catharell, just recently returned from Beatlefest,
had shown up. As hard as I tried to get her to join me in the queue she
would not.

and then it was time...

21 March, the store closed shortly after noon. It was still snowing
and we feared that Paul would be late. The word had it that he
was flying in from London. The first 10 people were let in the store.
They took our bags and we stood right behind the media.

I'm not sure if he was late but it didn't seem long before the radio
dj announced that Paul had arrived. He came in through the back.
At first I couldn't see him but the response of the crowd told me he
was here. His auntie Joan was there to greet him and he stopped
to chat with her as he moved further into the store it seemed like he
was coming straight towards us when someone redirected him.
He said something I couldn't make out, laughed and made a quick spin
to his left. He looked divine. Once he sat they started moving people
through straight away. There was this dreadful silence. The he said
"somebody put some music on, will you?" everyone laughed and of
course Beatles music was played. <Don't ask which songs.>
I could see him. Clearly, every little bit of him as he spoke to people.
First Naoto, then the 2 guys with the guitar, Kate, Sharon, Marilyn,
Nancy and then me. He was very relaxed. His hair was soft, auburn
with the little hint of gray at the temples. He was tanned, wore two
rings<g>, black suit and black polo with the infamous trainers.
After Marilyn, he also sported a small white carnation in his left breast
pocket, yeah, she gave it to him. Mark was a specimen as well and
they were all so kind. We stood by Mark until Geoff gave the signal
for the next person to approach. John stood to Paul's left about 6 feet
or so away. The store staff wore white polos that had blackbird singing
printed across the chest.

I stood next to Mark and told him he looked almost as good as his boss,
he smiled and said thanks. I heard Paul say, you take care (or stay warm)
Nance and then he was looking at me...me, he was looking at me. Geoff
kind of tapped my shoulder and I approached Paul extending my hand.
He half stood when we shook hands and he said hello. I told him how
wonderful it was to see him again. I wanted to kneel before him and started
to but my knees wouldn't cooperate and it looked more like a curtsy. He
asked me my name as he took my book from my hands and then asked me
where I was from. I answered both his questions and then said the most
unbelievable, "You know Paul, I'm really getting too old for this bullshit".
He looked right up at me, with his head cocked a little to one side and very
slowly said, "right". he asked me my name again and I found myself looking
down on his head as he wrote in my book. I had expected him to laugh but
when he didn't I could have died. Inside I said, "shit this is fucking Paul
McCartney, say something...something worth saying".

There was a pause as I watched him write. Then whateveritis spoke for me.
"You are so many colours Paul"
He looked up, smiled and very softly said, " and I'm giving them all to ya, aren't I?"
Yes, yes, yes my body screamed as I felt the rush of multiple orgasms.
"yes, you are...and I am enjoying all of them, thank you"
He shook my hand once more and I turned, damn it I turned when I wanted
to plant him a big wet one.
As I was leaving 'his space' someone called my name. It was the BBC reporter
I had spoken to earlier. She asked me if I would read one of Paul's poems.
I stood in front of Paul and read from page 5 with all of the emotion that I
was feeling.

Mist the Mind

Mist the mind over
With damp's foggy dew
Slide like a tidal wave
Over the rock and
Drowning in merriment
Tell me I am not alone.

Hum through the carpet
Nudging the undergrowth
Call out the bad names
To curse very midgy mite
Spin me a reverie
to Crack me up
And helpless with laughter
Drop down the mount
A highland waterfall
Searching for love


I
They say there were several thousand people there.
I don't know, don't care. Many gals and some guys
were crying. Somehow we were able to find each other.
Each bathing in the afterglow. You've heard about
Rosemary of London and her now famous tattoo

 Many had equally wonderful personal moments.

After milling about, I headed to the back of the store where
Paul had entered. Sure enough there was a great deal of
security, two cars behind barriers and a few fans. I planted
myself right beside the passenger side of the second car.

Within the hour more security was visible and store personnel
could be seen. The store manager, Ina, again approached me
and asked me if it had all been worth it. "Of course", I said and
she said "yes, it was, wasn't it?". She invited me to stop in later
in the week. soon John came out and started the second car.
He accepted many gifts from fans. I watched as he inspected
each of them. They do take good care of our guy.

Then I heard them say he was coming. Suddenly he was there,
standing in the doorway, smiling, waving. He walked behind the car,
took some more gifts, signed I think one book and got in the car.
I may have gotten about 3 or 4 pics.
 As he drove off it started to snow. It was the strangest thing, the others
will confirm this. It stopped snowing when he arrived and started when
he left. It was too cool.

It was nearly 3 p.m. I needed a nap, a shower...shit I still had the
Everyman to get ready for. I don't know what I did, but at 6:30 Nancy was
ready
and we were looking for a black cab.

It was cold and  rainy when we arrived at The Everyman Playhouse.
There were a few familiar faces standing out front. In the Bistro
were several people, Geoff Baker among them. He came outside
and said hello to some of the people waiting.  Many people in the
bistro were specially invited guest, like Mike McCartney and his family.
There were some reporters, lots of artsy, literature types and a few
fans. It was emphasized that photos would not be allowed and we
were asked to check in our cameras so we did.

The Everyman playhouse holds 450 people and the seating is arranged
horseshoe style, with the sides being wooden benches like in a church,
not bleacher seats. The floor had 2 round glass tables with flowers,
bottles of water, red and white wine. There was a podium and microphone
in the front. The back wall had a screen with a star shaped image. It was
a nice room, cozy, sort of like a big room in a pub.

The theatre director spoke briefly about the reading and the specialness
of what we were about to witness and hear. She urged us again to respect
the wishes of the authors and not take photos. The front row was nearly
empty except for a blonde woman I learned later was HM. The theatre
director and the authors sat in this row when they were done with their
portion of the presentation. In the second row was Mike Mc, center aisle
and his family. I was sitting in the right bench with a clear view of the
podium.
No seat was a bad seat. It was, as I said a cozy little place.

Willy Russell was first. He began with I hate poets. I'm not a scholar or
a critic of the arts but I really enjoyed this. Willy did not read his poems
he did them as he told me later. There was so much emotion, we laughed
often but many times we were left speechless, pensive.

Tom Picard was the most avant-garde. He seemed unprepared. He read
his poems with emotion, not caring if we liked them or not. His poems are
raw and strong. They are not romantic. They are not for the faint or easily
offended. I can see why Paul likes them. Paul wrote the intro or forward of
the book fuckwind. Tom read a poem What makes Macken(sp)? It has something
to do with sail boats, early Liverpool life. He said it was "not what makes
macca,
if I knew what makes Macca, I'd bottle it." He said profound things like,
Never ask the same Guru two questions, In America the medicine looks so
good,
I want to get sick and try it. He has a lot to say about fucking.

Adrian Mitchell was next, sporting a cream suit he was electrifying.
He read The killing Ground, Celia, The Flying Sun, To whom it may
concern and a delightful poem about his daughter, Betty and meeting
Miles Davis which inspired his poem Jake's amazing suit. It was he who
introduced Paul. He spoke about 4 poems that he read at Westcliffe
backed by Paul and his band. 

He introduced Paul as a young man
doing his first poetry reading.

Paul wore the same clothes he had earlier. He appeared nervous, a little
jittery as he spoke about writing his first poem, Ivan. He spoke about
Liverpool and his childhood memories sitting on the bus before reading
In Liverpool. Jerk of all Jerks was full of emotion. He told of how Adrian
Mitchell convinced him that his lyrics were poetry also. He learned to
hear, speak the words he had sung. He read Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
It was so odd yet so familiar. The voice was soul wrenching. Several
times it cracked like maybe he was fighting a cold but it was soo good
to hear him. He said he was trying to put his best poetic pose but it was
not working so he would just be himself. Works for me. He read Abbey
Road and then began to tell us about writing whilst Linda was ill. During
her London hospital stay he would run every morning in Regents park.
He said writing the poems helped him work his way through his grief,
then he read Black Jacket.

He then spoke more of his childhood memories. He told us how his mum
would always check his breast pocket for dinner tickets that he would use
to get chili to go. When he was eleven, his mum found a fold up drawing of
a naked woman. Mother Mary turned it over to his dad and after 3 days he
confessed he had done it and told of how he was made to chop wood.
Early chainsaw man it seems. At this point Adrian Mitchell stood up and
started up the steps. 

Paul shouted up to him, "Hey Adrian, we're not done. It's not that bad"
and everyone laughed.

He said most of what he writes about are based on true stories. He told us
about his Japanese masseuse singing yesterday, the Argentinean who had
him moan erotically, I tell you gals, I heard Paul make love sounds<g>. 

He told us about one that told him to look deeply into his eyes as if he were trying to bore 

a hole in them and how he told her "I just want a massage, not a relationship".

One funny moment was one who told him to imagine his leg was made of
bronze and hollow, then that his neck was long like a giraffe. Apparently it
was meant to be a relaxation exercise but when she asked him how he felt
he said like a man with a bronze hollow leg and the neck of a giraffe. He
was
having a good time. Meanwhile HM was videoing the entire production, the
others as well. He read Bees in the Borage that he wrote after a walk/ride
near his home in Sussex. Tcaiko was written after he imagined what
Tcaikowsky would have been like if he had grown up in Speke. The crème
de la crème. He wanted to end with audience participation. He read first
verse of Why don't we do it in the road? and then we said the next verse
in a whisper. The following verse was we together, said loudly, with feeling. I had no
trouble saying to Paul, shouting to Paul, "Why don't we do it in the road?"
It was a kick. Paul and I were saying why don't we do it in the road?
It doesn't get much better than that.

The grand finale was a reading by all four poets of Adrian Henri's Without
You.
I don't have the words to this poem but I'll find it. Each poet took a turn
reading
a line. It was a spectacular end to a magical evening of a truly perfect
day.

In the bistro afterwards, the Adrian and Willy mingled and we were able to
chat briefly and I got their books autographed for my collection. Paul left
fairly early I was told.
We did the same. It had been quite a day.

<g>
aimes

blackbird memories photo gallery