I am a huge Beatles fan – so much so that when my wife Rosa started talking about visiting her cousin Jane in Scotland, the first thing I thought was, "Unless I'm really off on my geography, Scotland is not far from Liverpool, England." (Like most Americans, geography is not my strong point. It was only recently that I discovered that West Virginia was, in fact, a separate and distinct state, and not just the left-hand side of Virginia.) As things turned out, Scotland was conveniently located next to England, so Jane and her husband Duncan graciously agreed to pick us up at the Glasgow airport and drive us to Liverpool – birthplace of the four lads from…uh, Liverpool.

Driving through the countryside of England, I saw lots of rolling hills covered with thousands upon thousands of white dots, which were actually thousands upon thousands of sheep – so many sheep that, if you were having trouble sleeping, you would have to hire a certified public accountant to count them for you.

Our first day in Liverpool, we took a Beatles tour on the “Magical Mystery Tour” bus. Our tour guide was Eddie. As we got on the bus, I smugly whispered to my fellow Beatle pilgrims, “This guy won’t know half as much about The Beatles as I do.”

We weren’t long into our tour when Eddie started saying things like “When Yoko was here for the ceremony to rename the airport after John, she told me…” and “The last time Paul was in town, he said, ‘Eddie…’”

Turns out, Eddie’s mother and John Lennon’s mother Julia were friends, and Eddie himself was a drummer who played in the original Cavern Club with a band called “Johnny Reb and the Rebels.” (As you might have guessed, Eddie did know a few things about The Beatles I didn’t know.)

Eddie was a great tour guide, and we enjoyed his stops at Penny Lane (the barber shop, the bank, and the fire station are still there, although the bus shelter in the roundabout has been converted into a restaurant called “Sergeant Pepper’s”) and Strawberry Field (an orphanage that hosted garden parties that John loved to attend as a child.)

The last stop on our tour was the reconstructed Cavern Club. I had promised the girls in my office that, by 8:30 a.m. Baton Rouge time (when they’d be arriving at work), I’d be in the Cavern, having a beer. And there I was, true to my word (at 2:30 p.m. Liverpool time), relaxing in the Cavern, soaking up the atmosphere – and a pint of Guinness.

The following day, Tuesday, we set out to visit John and Paul’s childhood homes, which we discovered were open for tours every day – except Tuesday. I didn’t feel so bad when I read that Paul himself had arrived on the doorsteps of his boyhood home, unannounced, on two separate occasions, only to discover for himself that it was closed. (Not on Tuesdays, even for you, Sir Paul!)

Denied entrance to John and Paul’s houses, we set out in Duncan’s car to St. Peter’s Church, where on July 6, 1957, Paul met John for the first time when John and his skiffle group, the Quarrymen, played at a church fair. When we entered the church grounds, a friendly man wearing a St. Peter’s shirt spotted us and came up to say hello. His name was Graham. Graham invited us into the church and started telling us some of the church’s history. After a minute of this, he looked at us and said, “And what brings you to St. Peter’s today?”

I felt like a kid caught red-handed in some childish mischief. Here was this nice man taking us on a tour of his church, and the sole purpose of my visit was The Beatles!

A few moments of nervous silence passed before Jane pointed to me and said, “He’s a big Beatles fan.”

“Oh!” Graham said excitedly, “I’ll be right back. I have a copy of the program for the church fair that day that I can give to you. Would you like to see Eleanor Rigby’s grave in the church graveyard? You know, John sang in the choir here for a short while.”

Thank goodness, Graham was also a big Beatles fan. After showing us the field behind the church where the Quarrymen played, he led us to the headstone of Eleanor Rigby. (Paul denies consciously using the name from the tombstone.)

We thanked Graham for his hospitality and set out for the next stop on our Beatles tour – the Casbah Coffee Club. The Casbah was located in the basement of the family home of Pete Best, The Beatles’ original drummer. Pete’s mother Mona decided one day in 1959 to turn their basement into a club for teenagers, and John, Paul, George, and Pete Best became the Casbah’s “resident band.”

In anticipation of opening night, Mona sent the boys down to paint and decorate the basement. Paul painted broad bands of bright colors on the ceiling of the “Rainbow Room.” John painted the designs on the ceiling of the “Aztec” room, and John, Paul, George, and Pete all painted stars on the ceiling of the “Star” room. (The Beatles ended up playing the Casbah 44 times and actually played the Casbah before they ever played the more famous Cavern Club.)

Rory Best, Pete Best’s brother, was my guide for my tour of the Casbah. On this particular morning, I was Rory’s only customer, my other travelers not wishing to part with the 25 quid for this little slice of Beatle history.

I talked to Rory for nearly an hour and enjoyed his stories about John, George, Paul, and Pete, although I cringed when he touched the original designs, hand-painted by John, Paul, and George on the low ceilings. (Don’t touch the ceilings, Rory! You don’t see them doing that in the Sistine Chapel, do you?!)

After visiting a few other Beatles haunts in Liverpool, it was time to make the drive back to Jane and Duncan’s house in Scotland. Jane and Duncan thought it would be appropriate, being in Great Britain and all, for us to go see a Shakespearean play, so we went to see Macbeth. This was my first Shakespearean play since the 9^th grade, when my English class went to see Hamlet and embarrassed our English teacher greatly. You may recall from your English literature class that Hamletcontained one of Shakespeare’s most famous jokes, which went something like:

Hamlet: “What do you think of the play, my lady?”

The Lady: “I think he doth protest too much!”

Ha, Ha, Ha! I still laugh every time I think of that line! Anyway, after squirming and fidgeting in my squeaky seat for an hour and a half, most of the characters in the play were dead, and the play was over.

The next morning, the news media were unmerciful: “dull,” they bellowed; “boring,” “limp,” “abysmal,” and “parochial” were just some of the unkind things they had to say…not about Macbeth,but about an important speech by David Davis, an aspiring Tory Party politician. Up until that point, many were predicting that Mr. Davis would be the party’s new leader. After this speech, however, his political prospects were declared all but over. Why? Did he say something really stupid, like “It’s God’s will that England be Vanilla”?

No, his speech was just dull. The BBC even showed one of the delegates, head on his desk, sleeping during Mr. Davis’ speech!

Well, having just sat through Macbeth, I knew exactly how the delegate felt. It only goes to show that the people in Great Britain are just like everybody else: they want to be entertained. Hopefully, David Davis has learned his lesson, and the next time he makes an important speech, he’ll include a little Shakespearean humor to liven things up, like “Those Labor Party people doth protest too much!”

On second thought, he might just want to buy a good joke book.