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Six weeks ago I received a phone call from a friend of a friend. Out in the UK for a few months, shocked by the cost of everything, particularly accommodation, and slightly shaken by a minor car accident, he phoned to ask if he could stay with us for a few nights while he found his feet in London. Naturally empathetic to anyone who is struggling for money, I said yes, even though I've heard the old adage, "two words you must never say to an Australian: spare' and room'.
Unfortunately, things started to go bad from pretty much the first morning when, with a bladder that was at near to breaking point, I waited nearly two hours for him to finish in the shower. What he was doing in there, I can only guess, but judging by the sliver of soap he left behind I believe he might suffer from some form of Kenneth Williamsesque cleanliness-related OCD. I really do shudder to think what he did with the nine bars of soap we went through in the six weeks he stayed with us.
He is now gone, mercifully, and we no longer have to tiptoe stealthily around the house in the hope that we might avoid him and his endless talk of interest rates and, wait for it, conspiracy theories.
Aside from the usual list - the Apollo landing was a hoax, Princess Diana was killed by MI5, Pearl Harbour was allowed to happen, the Ancient Egyptians were the descendants of a Martian immigration, barcodes are really used to control the population, etc - our intrepid lodger enthusiastically informed us of another conspiracy I was less familiar with. Apparently Paul McCartney died in a car accident in 1966 and was swiftly replaced with a look-alike sound-alike called William Shears.
The story goes something like this. On November 9 1966, while recording tracks for Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Paul became embroiled in an argument with a fellow Beatle, threw a hissy fit, then marched out of the studio. Destabilised by the row he then crashed his Aston Martin into a lamppost and died instantly.
Seemingly oblivious to just how good death can be for a career, the remaining Beatles decided to act fast and find a simulacra Paul without informing the public. William Shears Campbell, a musician with an uncanny resemblance to Paul was chosen, and for the remainder of the Beatles career somehow fitted seamlessly into the foursome.
Conspiracy theorists cite an interminable list of Beatles' album covers and song lyrics as "proof" that this is indeed what happened. I won't repeat them here, other than to say they involve "barely audible" lyrics such as "Paul is dead, Paul is dead" and photographs of the fab four invariably associating Paul with some obscure symbol of death.
For anyone who feels like wasting their time examining the "Undeniable Proof that Paul was Replaced by a Look-Alike following his car accident, you'll find it here.
But, before you decide to visit the webpage, I must issue the following warning: it, like all supposed proof of conspiracy theories, may just bore you to death.
And I should know. I have just spent the last six weeks trying to avoid fatal personal injury by staring off into the distance with a rictus face while making the odd listen-alike sound. Our lodger sure was deadly and I can only fear for the poor soul who has to sit next to him on the long haul home to Australia.
