The Beatles Were Bloggers non?

On the tube home today sitting next to a particularly large smelly man who insisted on sleeping on my shoulder, I looked to fade into an beatles infused reverie of something a little bit better as I dipped into Abbey Road for the upteenth time....

So I slipped through Lennon's clunky Come Together, into the whimsical Something, which I think Frank Sinatra said was the best song Lennon and McCartney had even written (even though it was of course the hand of poor old George Harrison)

Meanwhile the slightly large man began to lean slightly closer to my crotch...Boris Johnson gently tappy at my thigh on the front of his copy of Thelondonpaper...

And as we whoozily trundled allong the central line together the hypnotic sounds of 'Because' spun my mind around before we headed into McCartney's rock opera of side two hit me with stories of Polythene Pam and Mean mr Mustard which for some reason brought up thoughts of Ken Livingstone, "keeping a ten bob note up his nose" as we saddled into Notting Hill Gate station where everyone with any sense tends to get off...

But hold on...we trundled on through Holland Park, a closed Shephards Bush station and Ringo's rickety drum solo shook me as we rounded the bends underground darkness...but just as we came out of the ground at White City Station, an epiphany...The Beatles final message on their final album had a message for every flikrer...twitterer....blogger or anyone with enough time to put anything on the web, "in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make" a perfect definition of what I'm allways hearing about the karma of social media...

Was this an abberation? Was Ringo a dab hand with a bit of HTML and Flash or more the fact that whether your playing Sgt Peppers backwards...trying to profess that Paul McCartney died in 1966...if your bored for long enough you can end up reading a little bit too much into things...on that note I'm off to spread the true word of the 'fab four' on twitter.

and if your interested... I got off the train at White City and left my sleepy friend with Boris and Ken riding the central line into the sunsets of West Ruislip...pretty sure it wasnt Brian Paddick