When I met Yoko Ono, it was quite different: I spoke for about 15 minutes while she didn’t say one word in return. Not one word. I’d been sat next to her at dinner because the person doing the placement was drunk. There was nowhere for her to turn. Except to her neighbour, which she did eventually, after I’d been reduced to, ‘That’s a really nice shirt you’re wearing, where did you get it?’ Admittedly my chat had become a bit stilted, because in my head a voice was screaming ‘Why won’t you talk to me you fucking snotty cow you think you’re so special when the only reason anyone’s even heard of you is because you broke up not only the greatest band the world has ever known but also one of the few things this country has had to be proud of since we defeated the Nazis.’
But you can’t say that sort of thing, so instead I went quiet.