The Beatles - Live in Barcelona

"I'm sorry, he's from Barcleona," Basil Fawlty used to say to bemused guests at Fawlty Towers, to explain the erratic performance of his Spanish waiter, Manuel.

In a bizarre reversal, I found myself saying to the street-puppeteer on La Rambla, Barcelona's main tourist thoroughfare; "It's all right, I'm from Liverpool," in an attempt to reassure her as to my qualifications for assisting her with her Beatles puppet show. Obviously, because I am from Liverpool, I am an expert on anything remotely connected with the fab four, even a puppet show, about which I know less than nothing.

What drew my attention in the first place was the pathetic sight of the Beatles reduced to a duo of John and
Ringo only, Paul and George apparently comatose on the stage. Whether this was an attempt to
authentically re-create their early Hamburg performances, where they often performed for hours on end
before collapsing with exhaustion, I do not know, but I suspect it may have had something to do with the
absence of her partner.

Naturally, I could not allow this sorry state of affairs to persist: I immediately offered my services, free of
charge, that the Beatles could perform once more as the fab four we know and love. She was less than
enthusiastic, suspecting (rightly) that I was possibly the worse for drink, and insisted on giving me a lengthy
tutorial on the mechanical workings of the puppets, which not only danced rhythmically to the music, but
were also able to strum their instruments, by means of one half of a pair of scissors which was worked by
the puppeteer's thumb.

When I had mastered this technique to her satisfaction, she fired up the CD player, and The Beatles
demonstrated once again what made them such a great live band. The puppets themselves were
remarkably accurate - John Lennon had a suitably prominent nose, Paul was left-handed and played a
violin-style bass, and they even seemed to move like the real moptops, although Ringo was possibly more
animated than I remember.

Initially, all went well. A small crowd formed, the music blared out of the tinny speakers, the band kicked up
a storm. To increase the authenticity still further, I maneuvered Paul over to George's microphone for the
harmonies - the puppet lady was clearly dismayed by this - with two puppets so close together, a fatal
string entanglement was the only possible outcome. Her eyes flashed at me, and Paul returned to his
rightful position on the edge of the stage. We did one more song together, but she made it clear that
enough was enough. I was asked to leave the group. Now I know how Pete Best felt.