We all live in a yellow bunmachine.

It is not widely known in rock and roll lore that young Liverpudlians Paul McCartney and John Lennon were in the ad-writing game before they ever picked up instruments. They were contracted to write a series of jingles for an upstart Korean lingerie boutique, even spending a few months on the ground in Seoul to get a feel for the Korean zeitgeist. Though they were specifically instructed to keep their noses to the grindstone by Head Office, Paul and John landed lucrative part-time gigs in the country's fledgling ESL teaching business. They considered pursuing this full time, realizing the career longevity of phonics for five year olds. The only problem was John's horrendous handwriting. One young tyke famously quipped "John Teacher, no write nice, you writing like whiskey grasshopper."

The fabulous young moptops burned the candle at both ends, logging endless hours in both the hagwon and their hotel room. Creative juices spillethed over. And then, as surely as it started, their Korean adventure ended. A 4 a.m. (GMT) phone call from pal Richard Starkey (though the lads called him Ringo on account of his uncanny accuracy in the carnival game of the same name) and the boys were off to the hastily-organized Yorkshire Entomology Symposium (YES), big fans of insects all. In a final flourish, John dashed off a copy of the lingerie jingle, handing it to the hotel maid as they raced to get to the airport. In one of those sublime moments of cosmic coincidence, that maid happened to be the next door neighbour of the cousin of the hairdresser of the owner of the lingerie store. The rest, as they say, is history. True story.

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