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Holidays!

Hey loves, I'll be off on holidays from the 9th to the18th! I won't be around too much and my threads will probably be slow, but I'll still be able to have internet on my phone, so you can reach me through email if you need me :) See you all soon!

(btw, I have missed the second anniversary of this account just like I missed the first. I am beginning to see a pattern, there...)

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"When the Beatles performed their Beatles Christmas Show, at the Astoria Cinema, Finsbury Park, London, New Years Eve, 31st December 1963, there was an adorable skit that so far has never shown upon film. But many photos exist of this classic bit of tomfoolery from the Boys.

John played the mustachioed villain, Paul the handsome hero, George the helpless heroine called Ermyntrude, and Ringo, from what I understand, threw snow.

George, being in drag, had to wear a skirt. And that tiny little Harrison waist just couldn’t hold it up. So a belt was improvised with a string.
"


This is the cutest thing ever. C'me here, Ermyntrude.

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Writer's Block: Band on the run

Which song associated with musician Paul McCartney is your favorite, and why?



seriously? You're asking me?

*grumbles*
 
'ppy 69th birthday, you dirty old bastard.



Photobucket

Writer's Block: Going down

You're on a crashing plane and your partner is fast asleep. Would you wake her/him up to say 'I love you' one last time or let her/him die in her/his sleep?

let 'em die in their sleep. Provided you can sleep through a plane-crash, which I don't think you can, but yeah.

Oh, the heartbreak.

*grumblegrumble*




You're looking for some peace and love,
The leader of a big ol' band...
You wanna save humanity,
But it's people that you just can't stand...

 
John was slouching inelegantly on the sofa of his living room, in his slippers and heavy glasses, lazily watching bad telly (summer repeats, pah. More like repeats of repeats, actually, his mind provided with an inner snort), feeling sleepy in the warm sun of the afternoon. John wasn't feeling very productive, that day. He chuckled aloud, this time. "Not productive" was a bit of an understatement, "lazy as fuck" would have been more accurate, really. But John didn't like the word, anyway. Productive, uh. It always made the picture of Paul flash before his eyes, looking all reproving and disappointed by his lack of motivation, whining about the fact that he'd written all of the decent material they'd recorded recently.

"Sod 'im," John grumbled under his breath, kicking a cushion to the floor viciously. It wasn't that he felt uninspired or too upset to write, really. He just couldn't be bothered to put anything together these days. He had moments of apathy like these, days during which he would do nothing but trip on acid and watch telly. Mn. Maybe he ought to write a song about that, after all. He sat up with a long suffering sigh and scratched his stubbly cheek, getting up and padding to the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea.

The wifey was away for the week (at her mother's again, or something), not very keen on staying around when John was in "one of his moods". She was away rather a lot, these days, he'd noticed. He knew he would have felt suspicious and perhaps jealous about that once, but now he just didn't care anymore. He supposed that was one more sign that his happily married state of boredom was falling apart. John didn't feel like being alone though, wondering who he could have over. Not a groupie, he wasn't in the mood for that. Paul would just boss him into writing, and he was fed up with George showing him sitar chords. Ringo then, perhaps. Or that kooky bird he'd met at the Indica Gallery. She'd been quite something.

Dylan had said he'd swing by, he recalled, sipping his tea distractedly. He'd been high though when they'd met the day before, and John knew all too well that dear Robert wasn't the most reliable person ever as far as remembering that sort of thing went. Oh, well. He took another sip of tea, looking up when the bell in the corridor rang, leaving his cup in the kitchen and sauntering to the door, forgetting to take his heavy glasses off.

Writer's Block: Over the top

Who would you consider the most overrated musician, and why?

I'm refraining really hard from saying 'Paul McCartney' right now, just so you know, Paulie.

Oh. Did I just say it? Bugger. *smirks*

*whistles Silly Love Songs innocently*
Today is apparently my let's piss Eric Clapton off day of the month.


I love my life *tears of joy*

Anniversary. Sort of.

I have now officially posted more than 3000 comments with this account only. Scary.

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