I woke up one morning at BFF’s flat in St John’s Wood, London. After she’d rescued me from yet another traumatic situation in my life.

The radio was on. John had been shot somewhere, by someone.

Unfortunately  – Dad was at Hendon at the same time and ordered me to get on the tube. Meet him. And we’d travel home together in his car. Not a single word spoken for over 3 hours and 140 miles :o(

Never did like Beatles.

This is…m’eh…OKish!