What happens when you wrote a masterpiece at 25 about when you're 64 and you actually get there?
When you think about it, it feels like when you listen to a Beatles song: always the same vertigo that takes you between an intense sensation of a tragedy happening and a bellyache of growing excitment and pleasure.
Well, dunno if the cottage in the Isle of Wight is rented, but I bet Macca is getting at least thousands of "Valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine". He deserves it. I'm just grateful for the music and in particular that bridge in A Day In The Life.
So yeah, happy birthday.