Geoff Baker explains how his New Year's peace was shattered - in the most delightful of ways.
Anyway, the advantages of a low heart rate - the doctors say - is that it means the heart can cope with unbelievable degrees of stress, excitement or surprise.
Which is good, because at 11:20 in the morning of 30 December 1996 my heart rate achieved an all-time best of approximately 377 beats per minute.
Monday 30 December 1996 was one of winter's prettier days in England. The overnight frost still lay in the fields, sparkling in the mid-morning sun as I drove back home from the visits to friends and family that Christmas-time make obligatory. Ware of black ice on the roads, I took my time, musing all the while of New Years Resolutions that, this time, we'd really make the pieces fit.
On getting home, I made coffee, had a cigarette, kicked off my shoes and mooched about the place, opening cars that'd come too late, had another cigarette, took another look at the sweater my grandmother had knitted and decided that maybe it would be OK to wear - on a dark night, inside a box, at the bottom of a deep pit.
It was a nice, calm day. King Curtis played on the stereo. Life was sort of creamy dreamy.
Then, at 11:20am, the phone rang.
Him? King Curtis was now playing "got trouble on my mind" and my mind was racing, reeling. Hang on, hang on. Calm down. Deep breaths. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON? This news is embargoes. By Buckingham Palace! You can't go around phoning me about this. This is top secret. If you break the embargo - and this story - we'll all go to the Tower. It'll be beheadings all round. At least. So stay calm. Say nothing.
Sorry, what did you say?
There is one word for how I felt at this moment. It begins with a loud capital F and people in towns 20 miles away probably heard me yell it.
What? No, I haven't got a press release. I was going to write the press release this afternoon. Yes, I know I'd better bloody hurry. What? No, they're away. Really. What? No, I don't know where. What? Yes, yes, of course, as soon as I've written it. I promise, just let me get off the phone and write it.
The average-to-good touch-typist can write at 60-100 words per minute. Being a two-fingered typist I usually hit in at around 40 words per minute. On this day I was pusing 90.
Paul McCartney has been knighted by Her Majesty The Queen in the New Year's Honours Li...
RING. "Hi this is Reuters News Agency."
RING. "Hello, this is BBC Radio 1."
You get the idea. For the next 20 minutes the calls came from Good Morning America, Independent Radio News, The Times, The Sun, The Mirror,BBC-TV, GMTV, BBC Radios 2, 4 and 5 Live (again), CNN, ABC, NBC, FOX, Le Figaro MJI Broadcasting of New York. You name it, they phoned.
I ran out the door, driving at absurd speeds to London with the video copies of the acceptance speech that, cannily, Sir Paul had taped before he left England and which the world and it's production assistant needed now. Now. Now. Now. (Even more cannily, Paul had not specifically revealed in his speech exactaly which honour he was receiving, so that those in on the tape's making and duplication could not privy to the secret.)
The next morning went like this: "It's 5am, Greenwich Mean Time. This is BBC World Service and here is the main news. Paul McCartney has been knighted in the New Year's Hono..."
"It's six o'clock and here is the news. Paul McCartney has been knigh..."
"Good morning. The time is half past six and you're listening to the Today show on BBC Radio 4. The news headlines: Paul McCartney has been..."
"It's 6:30 and you're watching GMTV. Former Beatle Paul McCartney..."
"Welcome to BBC Breakfast News. The Beatle Paul McCartney has been knighted in..."
"Here's the news on the hour GWR. It's 'arise Sir Paul McCartney'..."
Meanwhile, in America, Tom Brokaw was breaking the news on NBC in one of the 236 TV bulletins that carried the story that day.
Back home, the morning's newspapers arrived with a heafty thud on the doormat.
"MCCARTNEY IS KNIGHTED" thundered The Times. "SIR MACCA!" shouted the Daily Mail. "DUB ME DO" echoed the Mirror. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, Fab for Paul as Queen makes him Mac the Knight" headlined the Liverpool Echo. "A HARD DAY'S KNIGHT" yelled the Liverpool Post and a good two dozen other papers. [And you thought the punny headlines in CS were bad. - ED]
"YeSIRday. Four pages Tribute to Sir Macca Inside" roared The Sun across it's front page, its special section including tributes from Rod Stewart, Bruce Springsteen, Noel Gallagher, Phil Collins, Michael Jackson, Billy Joel and a host of other names, plus this Leader comment "What a showstopper of a New Year's Honours List. It reads like the cast of a TV spectacular. And no one deserves to be the top of the bill more than Sir Paul McCartney."
"No one deserves it more." Those were the words I heard over and over again from the press, TV and radio that New Year's Monday and Tuesday. My bank manager phoned and told me the same. (Truly) So did my Mum. My kid's teacher said it. The bloke down the village shop said it. I overheard the gaurd on my train saying it. A taxi driver told me the same. Fans all around the world woke up on New Year's Eve saying it. the huge media coverage said it. And when Paul told me the news on the phone, I think those were the only congratulations I'd said too.
And I can't find five other words to say it better.