One of the very first songs I vividly remember hearing as a small child was “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”.  Kindergarten was at least a year away when I would try my best to sing along with a song that made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.  I remember chiming in about Lucy … some flies … and molasses.  Or maybe Lucy was in disguise … with glasses.  Whatever the case, I distinctly remember demanding my dad to play that song over and over.  (I was a pushy four-year old.) He gladly did so, probably bemused I changed the lyrics every time I heard it.

Fifteen years later, my college roomie Elliott had an alarm clock that played “Here Comes The Sun” every morning.  I grew to hate that song, as Elliott never once bothered to get up to turn it off, sun or no sun.  That alarm clock eventually met a horrible fate, not that Elliott ever knew or cared.  (Come to think of it … so did Elliott’s brief stint in college.)

That summed up my insight on “The Beatles”, the group that shook the world nearly a half century ago.  Today, I found myself traipsing around Liverpool, England, opting for a private Beatles “Daytrippers” tour.  (It seemed like an ideal one-on-one trip in to the wayback machine … one that didn’t involve being hurried alongside hapless Chinese tourists.)

So much immersion, so little time.

A couple blokes who are self-proclaimed Beatles’ aficionados started the “Daytrippers” private tours.  One of them was born and raised in Liverpool … and still lives right in the heart of all of it on Penny Lane.  The stories he shared were from the heart, everything from Eleanor Rigby’s legacy to the famed meeting of John and Paul at a church garden party.

It was an amazing two hours of laughing and listening.  I now know the entire backstory to Penny Lane. I got the lowdown on the girl selling poppies, the banker with no overcoat (very strange!) and the immaculate fire truck.  I saw where John and Paul were born.  I saw the very barbershop where they all got their mop-top haircuts.  I visited The Cavern … the underground pub (read that: bunker) where The Beatles cut their musical teeth growing up.

In Liverpool, you cannot walk/drive/cavort ten feet without Paul, Ringo, George and/or John looking back at you, in silhouette, cartoon form or via statues, photos, posters or billboards.

I get a kick out of playing Joe Tourist as much as the next person, but I can honestly say I enjoyed this Daytrippers tour as much as anything I’ve ever done.  It was like a little slice of British lore and history lesson all in one.  Pop culture come to life.  Strawberry fields forever … indeed.