John and I weren't capable of getting back to Kenwood from there, so the four of us sat up for the rest of the night as the walls moved, the plants talked, other people looked like ghouls and time stood still. It was horrific: I hated the lack of control and not knowing what was going on or what would happen next.

John was closest of all to Paul; their relationship was very complex.

John asked me to dance and I nearly died. Bingo! I then amazed myself by being very cool, calm and collected outwardly-inside I was out of this world. The dance was slow and smoochy. I was aloof and John, I think, was slightly embarrassed. It was all very painful and beautiful at the same time. The remaining students were looking on with puzzled expressions at such an unlikely combination.

We were both sort of bowled over by the fact that we were married. It wasn't a question of 'Have we done the right thing?' It was all perfectly natural that we should be together. But John didn't get a real chance to be first a real husband or later, a real father. Once he got on the Beatles bangwagon he couldn't get off, even if he wanted to.

I didn't marry a Beatle, I married a broke student who played the guitar and ponced all my grant money off me for fags.

The first thing Julian wanted to do in life, well, before he wanted to be an artist and then a musician, was to be a chef. He'd come home and say 'Why don't you bake cakes like my friends' mothers?' I'd say, 'Oh, Julian, go out and buy a Mary Baker cake mix and do it yourself!' That started him off! By the time he was 13, he'd disappear into the kitchen whenever we had visitors and emerge with beautiful canapes. Now he thinks nothing of cooking for ten or 15 people, and he does it so calmly.

John needed to escape his reality. I understood completely but I couldn't go along with him.