On today’s Huffington’s Post, my attention was caught by the title of an article : The True Story Of The Clapton, Harrison And "Layla" Love Triangle. "Layla" is one of the few songs that can make me tear up each and every time I hear it, so of course, I read the article.
In it, Pattie Boyd, George Harrison’s first wife, tells about her life with George and her affair with George’s friend, Eric Clapton, who wrote the song "Layla" for her. Pattie was a famous model, and I don’t want to fall into the easy cliché of beautiful blondes being airheaded bimbos, but, really, what am I supposed to think when I read this:
“…in 1968, George had become obsessive about meditation. He was also sometimes withdrawn and depressed. My moods started to mirror his and at times I felt almost suicidal. I don't think I was ever in any real danger of killing myself but I got as far as working out how I would do it: put on a diaphanous Ossie Clark dress and throw myself off Beachy Head.”or
“In 1974 George told Ringo that he was in love with his wife. Ringo worked himself up into a terrible state and went about saying: 'Nothing is real, nothing is real.' I was furious. I went straight out and dyed my hair red.”
Now I can never listen to "Layla" or to "Something" (which George Harrison was supposed to have written for Pattie) without thinking : "I wonder if underwears are on sale at Zellers" or "May be I should shave my head except for a mohawk on top".
Curse you, Pattie Boyd, curse you and your vapid biography!!!