chalk and cheese

Wednesday night

Dear Sheila, 

I’d have never started this letter, only I passed Veruons tonight at about 7.30 pm and I realised that you are now probably in the thick of it. I suppose you worked late last night as well!

I hope you are keeping well and not finding the long hours too much, but it seems strange how girls go on for ages - even longer than men. It occurs to me that you will wonder why I am writing - that is if you even open the letter. Well I [am] writing for no other reason than that I would like to write to you from time to time, providing of course you don’t mind, I would even like you to me, telling me how you are getting on, the kind of things you are doing for example. I know you don’t say much, but it[’s] surprising how much comes when you start a letter.

Quite a few things have happened since I last saw you. You will remember be telling you about some commissions for portraits, well they have materialised, I am doing one at the moment of a young girl who lives in Childwall Valley Rd no. 51. I am getting £20 for this, and at least another commissions immediately after this, for which I will ask between £20 and £30 each. This will occupy for the next month or so, and of course I still have my college work to do, but I graduate I am not as tired at the end of the day as you will be. 

Another thing is that I am getting either a small car or a motorbike in about three weeks. The only reason I might get a motorbike instead of a car is that it takes so long to learn to drive and get a licence, also every friend you have immediately thinks that you are some kind of unpaid taxi-driver. By the way if it ever happens that I see you - anywhere, you can bank on a lift from me (if you trust me). 

I would also like you to write to me if you ever feel low. It always does me good to write to someone, you can say things that are often difficult to say or remember in a conversation. Or if you ever need help of any kind, in the future years and you feel you can’t turn to anyone else, try me, you know I’ll do my best. I mean this seriously, it might not seem in the least bit necessary - but you never know. I just want this letter as from one friend to another. I hope you don’t mind me calling you my friend, I would feel privileged if you would say you were mine.

I have finished that portrait of yours and framed it. I think the likeness is very good. In fact I was amazed at the way it came so easily and quickly everyone who has seen say it is like you. Anyway I have taken several photos of it which I am having developed tomorrow, and if you like I will send the best ones, if you like the picture then I would like you to have it because it might be worth it, at the moment it seems likely because I am apparently the only person in L’pool who can do a portrait like Annigoul. (yours isn’t, by the way, but it is still good). So if the commissions keep rolling in I should be in Easy St. 

I hope this isn’t boring, me talking about myself, but if you write I want you to talk about yourself. (I can just hear you saying “mind your own business and if I say anything, you saying “tough!”)

You might be interested to know that I have been going out with a first year girl for the last couple of days. (I was advised to go out with another girl immediately by Geoff). She is 17 years with large dark brown eyes, pouting lips, with quite dark skin, very good-looking, but still a young girl. All in all she is the only companion I have had this week, I haven’t bothered speaking to Rod or Dot or anyway of the gang except Brenda occasionally. In fact for some reason or other they seem to know what’s happened because nobody asks me where you are, when before, someone was always saying, “Where’s Sheila?”

Anyway, I know that you might be too busy to reply to this for a few days, please try, for old times sake. Anyway you open this because you knew I wanted to ask you something, I have not mentioned in this letter because in the short space of a few days it seems to have become less important, probably because I have been occupied all day and in the evenings with this portrait.

I won’t write anymore, not because I have nothing else to say, but for the sake of your eyes. I hope you write.

Best wishes for the future,

I love that too. The imagination runs riot!

“George was the kind of guy who wasn’t going to leave until he hugged you for five minutes and told you how much he loved you.”

[Tom Petty]

I couldn’t find the Ringo story, unfortunately. Maybe someone else will know it. 

George must be in the running for most hugged Beatle: 

A few favourite hugging pics there. (Gif from Pintrest). 

I can’t find a lot of stories about George’s cuddliness specifically (although, look at him, he’s very cuddlesome), though George’s sister, Louise, always talks about what she calls the ‘Harrison Hug’. 

“It started when one time George gave me a hug and he said, “Pass it on.” And so after he died I started to hug people and say, “This is from George, and he wanted me to pass it on.” And so they did.”

[Louise Harrison, x]

George: John Lennon

A collection of Paul and Ringo being handsy:

i had actually noticed it a bit. it always made me think how much Paul was projecting when he said that mates never touched each other much in those days. like okay paul 🙄

old paul and ringo

Paul and Mary in Scotland.

Photos of Friar Park from Olivia Harrison’s Instagram [x]

NOTE: Happy Birthday, George Harrison! During this pandemic, I decided to take inspiration from him and got into gardening, though on a much smaller scale of course. It’s helped me immensely. Just one of many ways he’s impacted my life. Love ya, George. I hope you’re still gardening somewhere.

Roger Phillips: Ellie says, what do you think George would be most proud of, of his legacy?

Olivia Harrison: I don’t know. Probably the garden.

1977: Paul sings a wistful tune. (Note: A fragment; this is either all there is of the song or all that has been publicly released.)

Paul McCartney tells a dirty joke. [x]