It was on one of these expeditions that I met Yoko Ono for the first time and, to say the least, I was impressed. I was in Patsy Booth's boutique, a hole-in-the-wall bazaar of flashing lights, black carpets and chromium rails filled with the latest fashions. I had a fetish for silver lurex and Patsy always had something special. As I idled my way through the dresses, I noticed John sitting on the steps that led up to the changing rooms.
"Ello, luv,' he said. 'On your own?'
'Course,' I replied. 'I can spend more that way.'
John was still laughing when Yoko appeared in a short black dress. He immediately became serious. John was wearing black jeans and a black sweatshirt and it appeared that gloom was the bond between them.
'Well, what do you think?' Yoko said, completely ignoring me. 'Do you like it?'
'Not a lot,' John said lightly.
'You never like anything,' Yoko snarled.
'Well it's not that bad, luv.'
Yoko Ono returned to the changing room and John just shrugged. I was astonished. Everyone in London was talking about John's Japanese girlfriend, but she was nothing like I had imagined. I have to admit to being a little biased against her; I liked Cynthia Lennon, a pretty blonde from the working class streets of Liverpool.
I said goodbye to John and left the boutique without buying anything. I had a strange feeling as I walked through the spring sunlight. The big wheel of time was about to move on and I didn't know if I was ready for it. John Lennon was entering a new phase in his life and there was me, dressed to the nines and driving a flashy car. The sixties were at their height, everyone had turned on to psychedelic drugs, the immortal 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', but with the era reaching its peak, there was only one way for it to go.
His name was Warren Beatty.
We met at a dinner party, but as soon as we were alone he said he wanted to make love to me.
I had the same immediate desire, but as I looked into Warren's eyes, I saw a vague, hesitant
reflection and realised I was seeing myself.
Warren cupped my cheeks in his palms, but as our lips met, I became afraid, the brief moment
of harmony that had entered my life was now at an end.
'I must go,' I said.
'Can I call you?'
'Yes, Warren, very soon.'
I fled Warren's arms and stepped into my dark-windowed Mini. My thoughts were in turmoil
and I drove the new car at full speed, the grey, deserted streets flooding behind me, along with the many resolutions I had made. Nothing was ever going to be simple for me, a point that was emphasised just a few seconds later. A blue flashing light appeared in my rear mirror and as the siren became louder and louder, I suddenly wished that Warren Beatty was there at my side.