Ringo was sitting next to John, nervously fiddling with his rings, sliding them up and down his fingers.
John was trying to read a newspaper, but his eyes kept being drawn to the movement to his right. Finally he sighed and swatted Ringo over the head with his paper. �Stop that!�
�Sorry, I can�t help it! I�m just so nervous for tonight,� Ringo replied, standing up and starting to pace up and down the room. Again, John�s eyes were drawn to the movement.
He sighed and put the newspaper down. �Well, that�s no improvement,� he muttered. George snorted and hid his face behind the magazine he was pretending to read.
Paul poked in his head from the adjoining bathroom. �Aye? Why are you so nervous then?�
�Ringo mate, you�ll do fine!� John said, straightening his newspaper.
�I�m a drummer, John, not a singer! Me voice is horrible, I�ll probably go all out of key!� Ringo wailed.
Paul emerged from the bathroom, wearing a black turtleneck and comfortable jeans, and went to stand next to Ringo. He looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder. �Don�t worry, Ring, it�s alright. I�ll be singin� the chorus with ye you know, you won�t be alone,� he said gently.
�Yeah, and nobody�ll hear your racket anyway with all the screamin� and shoutin�, so you can fuck up all you want,� John added.
�And if the worst should happen, we�re all up there with you, Ring,� George spoke up.
Ringo looked at each of them in turn and suddenly felt a rush of affection towards them. �Right�cheers, lads.�
John eyed him suspiciously. �Aye, you�re not goin� all soft on us, are ye?�
�Bugger off!� Ringo said, turning away.
John smirked and contently turned his attention back to his newspaper.
Then their manager Brian Epstein walked in. �Time to get ready, boys. You�ll be up in about twenty minutes.�
John threw his newspaper aside. �Crap, I�ll never get to finish this bloody paper!�
