Get Back: An emotional journey

Like thousands of others, we’ve been spending our evenings in the company of four lads from Liverpool as they tinker with their guitars, casually creating some of the best music ever written.
 
It goes without saying, but I’ll do it anyway, that Get Back is one of the best pieces of television of the year. Every moment is fascinating. The interactions. The fashion. The jokes. The arguments. Yoko just being there. Not to mention Glyn Johns – a scene stealer if ever there was one.
 
What I wasn’t prepared for was how emotional Get Back it would be.
 
The Beatles have always been special to me. They’ve been part of my conscious from the moment our family got its first CD player. We only had three CDs to play on it at first, and one of those was Sgt Pepper. When the rest of the house was busy I got the huge stereo all to myself. I would don the neck-bendingly heavy headphones and listen to Pepper over and over again.
 
I was captivated by my mother’s stories of phoning in sick to work to travel from Manchester to Liverpool to watch them play at the Cavern. From then, until the present day, my mum in the 1960s remains my absolute icon – she’s not bad at a Sunday roast either.
 
The Beatles were in my life from that moment on. In every CD collection, on every iPod, saved to every Spotify playlist.
 
When I moved to London, a flat just off Abbey Road became available and it was a no-brainer. Yes, the kitchen was the size of a primary school supplies cupboard (no joke – we had a one at a time policy in there) but I got to walk over the Abbey Road zebra crossing every single day on my way to the underground. Over the years I took hundreds of photos for tourists as they recreated the famous album artwork and pointed lost fans find to the right spot.
 
Then, coming home from a birthday dinner one year, my boyfriend stopped on the exact piece of road the Fab Four had walked over 50 years previously – and proposed.
 
At school, for a time, I was in a Spice Girls tribute act (Baby, if you’re wondering) and one night we were the ‘support’ for a local Beatles band called Accrington Stanley. It was clear, therefore, that when we got married, they were the only choice for our wedding band. The wedding day drew to a close surrounded by friends and family merrily singing Hey Jude at the top of their voices.  
 
Over the years I’ve wavered over who is my favourite. Paul at first, as he seemed the friendliest. Angst-ridden teen years, it was all about John. 20s and 30s were firmly George. Watching Get Back it has switched almost every 10 minutes. I’m obsessed with George’s boots, Ringo’s eyes and calming demeanour, John’s manic playfulness. Then, Part Three starts and in walks Paul hand-in-hand with a six-year-old Heather and I literally fell to pieces.
 
Potted background: I too was a small blonde child who acquired a bearded step-dad who is an absolute legend. OK, so he isn’t a Beatle, he’s actually a town planner, but still. I was in BITS. My husband was alarmed by the tears at first, then found the whole thing quite amusing. Needless to say, Paul has rocketed to the number one spot in my heart once more and may stay there. All long hair and bass and beard. Sigh.
 
Only an hour and a half left of the eight-hour feast and we are still left wanting more. Caitlin Moran tweeted recently that she will be watching it once a year for the rest of her life – I may just join her.