Ringo Starr, the god with feet of clay

Ringo Starr, the god with feet of clay

I’ve always wondered about Ringo fans. No band, before or since, inspired favouritism like the Beatles. If you liked your boys edgy, you chose John. If you wanted them pretty, it was Paul, who was equally if not more domineering than John but hid it well. Some girls went for the bashful, mysterious George: Joan Bakewell was one of them. But wasn’t Ringo the real counter-cultural choice? His posture, his face, his entire being said: what the hell…