My quest to figure out what The Beatles were doing this New Year’s Eve turned up only the following two sentences:

New Year’s party at Cilla Black’s flat, 9b Portland Place, London. Following a Northern tradition, Ringo is sent out, left alone in the street.

Cilla Black, in case you don’t know, was a singer with long-term Beatles connections — she was a Liverpool native and knew the boys from the Cavern Club, where she was a cloakroom attendant. Later she was managed by Brian Epstein and signed to Parlophone Records — but though she got quite big in England, she never made a dent in the U.S. market. I couldn’t name you a single one of her songs without looking it up, which I am not going to do at the moment.

As for the second part, about Ringo being left out in the street, I don’t know what that’s all about, nor do I know how to phrase the search term that would help me find out. I’d love to hear from anyone who has some insight.

So that’s the end of 1967 for this blog, and the beginning of 1968. While I already lived through 1968 once, I was two and a half months old when it started, so I missed a lot. I look forward to experiencing it again, though I know it was a difficult year, rife with disillusionment, political turmoil, and assassination.

On the Beatles front, 1968 is the beginning of the end — there is a lot of personal conflict and the forces that will eventually break up the band are set in motion. But there is plenty of creative action too, and Rishikesh, and the Mad Day photo session, and the White Album. So on the whole, it should be pretty fun.

Before signing off let me take a moment to thank everyone who reads this thing. I enjoy writing it but without readers it would be kind of an empty exercise. Thank you for your time and attention. May the New Year find you in good health and high spirits, and may no one leave you out in the street with Ringo.

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