A chance meeting between John Lennon and Philip Larkin in a motorway service station cafe in 1966.
Somewhere in South Yorkshire Dylan began moaning and folded over in the back seat.
‘Stop the car,’ yelled Lennon. The chauffeur glanced nervously over his shoulder.
‘I’ve got a van right behind me – there are some services coming up.’
Lennon rolled down the window, hoisted Dylan up by the collar and forced his head out the limo. They heard an anguished bark, then Bob hurled a stream of puke into the rainy night. When he’d finished Lennon dragged him back inside, leaving the window open to help disperse the dense cloud of pot.
‘Well done Bob,’ said Lennon, ‘you’ll feel much better for that me old son.’
Dylan slowly listed to port and slid into the corner. On the other side sat Donn Pennebraker, who was making a film about Dylan’s tour of England called ‘Something Is Happening.’ He chopped the air with his hand and Robert Van Dyke, watching from the passenger seat, lowered his microphone. The chauffeur indicated and began slowing down to take the slip road into the services. Donn switched off his camera and laid it on his lap; Lennon leant closer and asked him, ‘Did you manage to get that? Or shall we ask Bob to do it again?’
The toilets were on the bridge over the M1; Lennon and the chauffeur hauled Dylan up the long flight of steps, the two film-makers following a few paces behind, their heads down, muttering.
The strange trio in front attracted curious stares from the passers-by. The chauffeur in a smart grey suit, his peaked cap gradually being dislodged by Dylan’s arm. Bob’s blue navy jacket buttoned up to the neck, blank white face framed by Rorschach inkblot hair, his Wayfarer sunglasses slowly slipping down his nose. Lennon, looking cool and commanding in his black jacket, black button down shirt and black jeans, was giving a running commentary for the startled businessmen and gawping suburban couples...
Somewhere in South Yorkshire Dylan began moaning and folded over in the back seat.
‘Stop the car,’ yelled Lennon. The chauffeur glanced nervously over his shoulder.
‘I’ve got a van right behind me – there are some services coming up.’
Lennon rolled down the window, hoisted Dylan up by the collar and forced his head out the limo. They heard an anguished bark, then Bob hurled a stream of puke into the rainy night. When he’d finished Lennon dragged him back inside, leaving the window open to help disperse the dense cloud of pot.
‘Well done Bob,’ said Lennon, ‘you’ll feel much better for that me old son.’
Dylan slowly listed to port and slid into the corner. On the other side sat Donn Pennebraker, who was making a film about Dylan’s tour of England called ‘Something Is Happening.’ He chopped the air with his hand and Robert Van Dyke, watching from the passenger seat, lowered his microphone. The chauffeur indicated and began slowing down to take the slip road into the services. Donn switched off his camera and laid it on his lap; Lennon leant closer and asked him, ‘Did you manage to get that? Or shall we ask Bob to do it again?’
The toilets were on the bridge over the M1; Lennon and the chauffeur hauled Dylan up the long flight of steps, the two film-makers following a few paces behind, their heads down, muttering.
The strange trio in front attracted curious stares from the passers-by. The chauffeur in a smart grey suit, his peaked cap gradually being dislodged by Dylan’s arm. Bob’s blue navy jacket buttoned up to the neck, blank white face framed by Rorschach inkblot hair, his Wayfarer sunglasses slowly slipping down his nose. Lennon, looking cool and commanding in his black jacket, black button down shirt and black jeans, was giving a running commentary for the startled businessmen and gawping suburban couples...