Not having a Beatles record is just not going to happen. In order to pick this one, I shall have to imagine myself on this desert island. I have just imagined it, and it is full of celebrities and piles of the Bible and Shakespeare and useless luxuries.
People I should not like to meet on this desert island, former castaways that is, include Stephen Fry, Ruby Wax, Heston Blumenthal. Morrissey, Piers Morgan and Ricky Gervais. Surprisingly, in the entire history of the show there are not that many who I could not at least be civil to. The above are excepted. I would hope they would accidentally tread on a scorpion or eat Fugu by mistake.
Those I would perhaps nod to for a few years and then have the courage to strike up a conversation with would include: Joan Bakewell, Brian Rix, Humphrey Lyttleton, Darcy Bussell, Jack Buchanan, Oliver Postgate, and, as a double act, Raymond Tallis and David Starkey. The idea of having those two, together, on a desert island gives me the giggles. I would also seek out Sir Charles Mackerras who may be able to pull a small orchestra together. Finally, I would have Anthony Julius, whom I would instruct when my marriage to Tracy Emin inevitably disintegrated in bitchery and rancour.
Well, then, its a Beatles record, and here is one to remind me of my beautiful daughter, Judy, and is great for a singalong around the camp fire. I first heard this track in Harrods "Way In". "Way In" had been set up on the fourth floor of the store the previous year, in 1967. It was painted purple from top to bottom and you could hardly see enough to walk about, let alone see the goods. Anyway, you could sit there for hours while obliging sales assistants wired you up to a turntable. From there you could watch all the hip and groovy clothes flying off the rails and straight into peoples' inner coat pockets.