(Actually posted by Tim.)
The latest New Yorker has a profile of Paul McCartney titled "When I'm Sixty-Four." It's a melancholy piece, even when it's trying oh-so-hard to be cheerful. The dominant chord is struck by this excerpt from the album McCartney's about to release, Memory Almost Full, the cut "The End of the End":
On the day that I die
I'd like the jokes to be told
And stories of old
To be rolled out like carpets
That children have played on
And laid on while listening
To stories of old.
But for us, the saddest note struck must be this vignette...
from New Yorker author, John Colapinto, when he was invited to McCartney's home and Sir Paul showed him around his living room:
McCartney moved to a set of bookshelves that held two small framed photographs of him and his brother, Michael, as children, posing with their parents. He pulled out a hardcover copy of Pilgrim's Progress, and opened it to the flyleaf. "This is from Auntie Dill," he said. The book was inscribed "To Paul" and dated 1953. "I didn't like it at all," he said, replacing it on the shelf. "I liked that Auntie Dill gave it me. Trying to keep me on the straight and narrow."