Present day  2000- Melbourne Australia.

"Mum?" Hailey slide down the smooth hallway, her socks letting her glide perfectly to my doorway.

"Yes Hailey" I throw another dress on the bed from the meagre selection I had to chose from, what am I saying, they are the only dresses I own!

"Mum wear the red one, you look hot in it" Hailey picked the 'hot' red dress up from my 'definitely no' pile.

"Definitely NO" I cast my eyes skyward, deliver me from my daughters fashionable grasp please God! "And why would a ah-humm.. aged woman want or need to look 'hot' hmmm?"

"It's my night and I say this one! Now hurry up, mother"

"When did you get so bossy?"

"Oh around fourteen"

"I disagree I think it was more like seven!"

"Tamatoes , Tomatoes"

"You know Da used to say 'That'll be a nice dress when its finished' meaning..... it's too short!" ....'And Mimi too' I murmured afterwards. Wow where did that memory come from, Jim McCartney, I miss his cracking wisdom. Mimi, boy, she was a powerful woman.

The last time I visited Jim was just before he passed away. Too fleeting a visit but he was happy at the time and I left knowing in my heart I would not see him again. Hailey shook me slightly, awakening me out of my daydreaming.

"Dad never saw you in a dress Mum. You never left the bloody farm. Even when you went to the local dances you wore moleskins and check shirts so I assume you mean that Jim fella back in the UK" Hailey held the dress up to my face "Five minutes and it's knee length; nobody's going to see your wotsit!"

"And I hope not!"

I bowed to my only daughters wishes, she could sell ice to Eskimo's, and at top dollar.

***********

Paul

"What's that there?" I pointed to the bottom of the newspaper, laid open at the public notices section, heaven knows why Stella was on that page but she was and now I was reading upside down.

"What's, what where, father dearest?"

"That, the square in the middle bottom"

"Oh, just some Beatles art thingo. It's not about you, daddy"

Travelling- another plane, another hotel I should be tired of it all but I'm not. I should be fed up, feet up, money just totting up in my bank but I'm not; I'm here on the other side of the world running away again.

She left us- me and the kids, gee, two years ago now and I still can't see the light. So I tour throwing mega sized public spotlights on myself instead. One to try and feel something and two.... two to do my thing – preform/ entertain.

Richie thinks I'm insane for doing it so much. Wheras he tours seldom, I tour constant.
George, well George says I'm a 'vain tosser' that 'needs fan adoration' but it's not that, oh that's ok too, but it's my job. I'm not a bus driver or road sweeper- do they have them anymore? ...Not a road builder or a doctor.

I'm a performer and I luv it... big bonus right there. Stuff being pensioned off, I'm going til my voice falls silent, even when the ticket sales fail, you'll find me singing to the sheep, can't shut me up.

"What art thing?"

Stella huffs and turns the paper around for my perusal, glancing at my face wondering where I was seconds ago. "It's some hole in the wall showing of Beatles art made by Melbourne University Students, dad. Not the Lourve"

"Acidni. Where have I heard that before"

"It's an acronym or something dad. Maybe..... Arts Can Interest Dads Nattering Incoherently" Stella chuckled and stood, stretching arms over her head and making a slow starfish type exercise move. Looking about she patted my shoulder and headed off to talk to the hosties no doubt.

"We're landing soon, come put your belt on"

She turned and rolled her eyes, sick of my overprotective fathering. She is a good kid and Linda was as proud as punch when she got chosen to work in the fashion industry in Paris. She stomped her foot causing me to look up again.

"I need to tinkle, papa" She laughed giddily and walked down the aisle toward the loo.

Now why is that word stuck in my head....

"Dad, are you still looking at that ad?!" Stella plonked back down with a can of soda and an egg and lettuce sandwich;  the paper turned about again, her mumbling the advertising blurb under her breath.

"I'm going"

"No you're not"

"I am" Why am I arguing with my daughter about going out?

"It's only on tonight and you have a show that finishes at 11pm"

"It says right there it finishes when the sun comes up- Here comes the Sun. Fitting to the theme don't you think"

'Ok go but I'm coming too... can't have the old man out on the town all alone"

"Oh, such a wonderful daughter"

"Ha! You'll need someone to wake you up when we get to that place, it will be, what?..at least 2am by the time the concerts done and dusted"