Ringo sighs as he stares out across the street through the foggy murk. He sucks deeply on his rolley and lets the burning air fill his lungs to near-bursting, enjoying the unbearable pressure before slowly exhaling. The frigid, opaque air mirrors his dank mood; fifty years ago, he, George, Paul and John had been chased down this very sidewalk (admittedly in reverse order) by fifty screaming, lust-crazed nymphs in miniskirts, go-go boots and all gagging for some hardcore Mersey Beat.
Today, the odd passer-by neither recognises him, nor cares. It's the last throw of the dice for Ringo; his solo career and hit-and-miss studio collaborations have not kept pace with the party scene he has well and truly over-stayed, and now he's back where it all started. Back at the office of his Darren Lamb-type manager, begging for a job. He's desperate; he'll take anything. He flicks his butt into the mist, flips his collar up over his neck, and heads inside.
Ten minutes later, Ringo's sitting next to a wooden desk, doubled-over with his face in his hands, sobbing. "This is really all you've got? A children's TV series about a model train set is all you've got for Ringo Starr, one of the most famous musicians of all time?"
The tall manager nods somberly, "Afraid so".
He sighs, thinking of his maxed-out MasterCards. "Alright, I'll take it".
Thomas throws Ringo a bone ... a very large bone, as it transpires. Nine lives, Ringo. Pic: http://ttte.wikia.com/wiki/Ringo_Starr
he copped a lot of flak when he pleaded for no fanmail, since the 20,000 letters a week were impossible to deal with.
ReplyDeleteFame without massive cash is pain indeed.
terrific drummer though.
before I mentioned his 5-week rehab stint with Mrs Starr, I thought I should check it and found this good read. They have managed 30 years together and that's something. His April 1981 bride had a gown by the Emanuels before the infamous Diana meringue of July 1981.
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