The cult of Beatles


I needed a wee. I was in Liverpool’s trendy Albert Dock. I noticed a Tourist Information Centre, so went inside. “Could you tell me where the nearest Gents is please?” I asked nonchalantly.

The elderly lady looked nervously to her left, then her right, leaned forward and whispered, “If you go down the stairs of the Beatles place next door, you’ll find a toilet down there!”

I thanked her and left

It was ‘The Beatles Story’ next door. I strolled through the Beatles shop and down the stairs to the large basement, and found my restroom stop.  Ahhhh. That’s better.

So, even in the toilet there were slogans and lyrics from Beatles songs. Then I realised that the PA system was just playing Beatles songs.  I went into a panic.  Beatles stuff everywhere. I hate the Beatles!

Hang on a sec.  It’s a Beatles store, a Beatles exhibition, so that’s ok, I think.

But there was something a bit robotic and trance-like about all the very nice and friendly workers.  Oh my god, of course!  They spent 8 hours a day in an environment which forced them to listen to non-stop Beatles songs.  I hate oldies! That’s got to change you, non-stop Beatles songs.  That’s got to worm its way into your brain, just like the chanting and prayer repetition that goes with any religious cult.

I’d been there 10 minutes and my foot was starting to tap. I was about to become one of them.

I made my excuses and left.