Fame came with advantages. One quiet Sunday, the singer songwriter Donovan was sitting in his flat in Maida Vale when the doorbell rang. Paul had arrived, with his acoustic guitar.
They smoked a joint or two. Paul played Donovan two songs he was working on. One of them was about a yellow submarine, and the other went:
Ola Na Tungee,
Blowing his mind in the dark with a pipe full of clay –
No one can say …
In time, Ola Na Tungee would transmute into Eleanor Rigby, and his mind in the dark with a pipe full of clay would turn to rice in the church where the wedding had been. But for the moment, Paul was just fiddling around.
Before long, the doorbell rang again. Donovan went to answer it. A young policeman told him that there was a car outside; it was parked illegally, at an odd angle, the doors open, with its radio still on.
Paul joined them at the door.
The policeman’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr McCartney. Is it your car, sir? A sports car?’
Anyone else would have been faced with a reprimand and a parking fine. Instead, the policeman offered to park Paul’s car in a more suitable spot. Paul thanked him, and handed over the keys. A few minutes later the policeman returned, to tell him that everything was now in order. As he handed over the keys he saluted, allowing Paul to return to his guitar, and Ola Na Tungee.