I once met a girl or should I say she once met me. She was an ex-girlfriend of John Lennon and a platonic friend of George Harrison. I quite fancied her or should I say she didn’t fancy me at all. One day, finding myself close to where she lived, I gave her a call. She invited me round. When I arrived she was helplessly drunk. “I’ll go to the shops,” I said, while privately thinking “I’ll make a run for it”. But I decided against that and returned with bread, cheese and wine, just in time to hear her being sick in the bathroom.
Which at least sobered her up. Following the vomiting, she went into her bedroom, had a loud and prolonged argument with someone who wasn’t there, then joined me in the living room, carrying a box full of stones and crystals. “These belonged to John Lennon,” she told me. “He gave them to George to look after. George gave them to me. Now I have to get them to Julian. Would you like one?” and she tilted the box from side to side, causing the stones and crystals to swirl around invitingly. “No” said my mouth, but my hand disagreed and reached out, picking up a small polished stone made, I later learned, of agate.
The stone had a small piece of paper glued to one side, which meant, it seemed to me, that the former Beatle had kept his stones and crystals stuck inside a scrapbook. I found this rather endearing. A jeweller friend of mine fitted the stone with a frame and a chain. I wore it for a while, until I decided I didn’t want to wear it anymore and took it off. Or should I say…
I enjoyed wearing a stone around my neck that had once been stuck in a scrapbook by the late John Lennon. I also enjoyed knowing that I would never have been given the stone if I’d stuck to my original decision and made a run for it. Sometimes, doing the right thing is its own reward. Other times, it earns you a Beatle artefact. I know which one I prefer.
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