was plain that they had something about them. They were charming and caustic in a way that only working-class Liverpool kids could be. Paul was a jaunty young man with the eyes of a spaniel, implacably confident of his charm, and John stuck in the odd barbed word. He was obviously wickedly funny but didn’t look like the kind of guy you’d want to mess with. George was a rather shrinking presence and I’ve no recollection of Pete at all, or whether he was even there. And Brian was all charm and affability, cool but very enabling—he was going to make this Beatles thing “happen.”
