Interview for BBC

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“Hey, I know you!” exclaims Paul McCartney, gripping my hand as we walk into his office in central London.

I’m instantly disarmed. All my nerves evaporate. And while I’m realistic enough to know he doesn’t really hold treasured memories of our previous encounters, I’m impressed by his ability to defuse the tension of Meeting A Beatle.

We gather in Soho at lunchtime. Instead of Wild Honey Pie or Savoy Truffle, McCartney has opted for a simple bagel (topping: a terrifying blend of Marmite and hummus), which he prepared in a kitchenette next to his assistant’s desk. As he eats, he scans a printed list of film titles – mainly vintage comedies – looking for something to play at his family movie night.

“It’s hard to find something I haven’t seen,” he laments.

Lunch finished, we settle next to a Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner of the room. McCartney places his phone face down on the table – revealing a case printed with a colourful holiday photo.

“Is that the family?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s my grandkids. Four of Stella’s and four of Mary’s. They’re all very bright,” he beams, pointing to each one in turn and listing their Ivy League achievements. “Yale, Brown, Brown, NYU, Yale again.“

“Are you an indulgent granddad?”

“Yeppp!” he confirms. “They’re very lovely. I love them.“

[…]

“I like to go over memories, because it brings me back to the time,” he says. “It brings me back to the people.“

Born in 1942, McCartney grew up in a time of transition. The aftermath of World War Two weighed heavily on Liverpool, one of the most heavily bombed cities outside London, but a busy regeneration programme and a booming dock trade fostered an air of opportunity.

“Things were pretty good, actually,” says McCartney. “My uncles and aunties and my parents were so relieved that Hitler wasn’t sending these bombers any more – so it was piano, it was music, it was jokes. It didn’t matter that you weren’t that well off. They made it okay.“

McCartney’s father Jim infused the house with music, bashing out self-taught tunes on an old piano. He was also a storyteller who loved wordplay – something that later informed his son’s lyrics.

“He loved to do crosswords, and he would be very keen for me to know certain words that you wouldn’t otherwise have known,” the musician recalls. “So I was the only kid in my class who could spell ‘phlegm’.“