Night John was thrown out by Brigitte Bardot

DURING his early teens, John Lennon started collecting a series of photographs in Weekend Magazine of Brigitte Bardot, for whom the term ‘sex kitten’ had recently been coined.

The magazine offered in weekly instalments a new piece of what would eventually grow into a life-size pin up of Brigitte Bardot in a swimsuit. Having collected the full set, John taped the composite poster onto the ceiling above his bed.

John’s fidelity to Brigitte (pictured) survived money and fame. Then, in June 1968, fantasy collided with reality when she arrived in London, and sent word that she would like to meet one or more of the Beatles.

John was the sole volunteer. Before the big meeting, he popped round to see Beatles press officer Derek Taylor and asked him for some marijuana to calm him down. Taylor only had LSD, so they both took that instead.

The two of them then climbed into John’s RollsRoyce and were driven to the Mayfair Hotel, where Bardot was staying. Suffering an attack of nerves, John sent Taylor into the hotel while he remained crouched on the floor of the car.

Taylor found Brigitte Bardot dressed all in black leather, surrounded by female companions. When he told her that John Lennon was in the car outside, she seemed disappointed that no other Beatles had come.

By this time, Taylor’s tabs of LSD were kicking in, causing great waves of paranoia. He and John were in danger, he told Bardot, and they were being watched by mysterious people. Bardot didn’t understand what he was saying, but suggested he ask John to come up.

Lennon duly came to the room, but the twin traumas of LSD and Brigitte Bardot in leather rendered him speechless.

With some effort he managed to say ‘Hello’, but little else. Bardot said that she had booked a table in the hotel restaurant, but neither John nor Taylor were sure they could walk that far.

Brigitte, in Taylor’s words, ‘was not best pleased’. She and her female companions stomped off to the restaurant downstairs, leaving John and Taylor in the hotel suite. When Bardot and her entourage returned from dinner, they were surprised to find the two men still there, Taylor slumped on Bardot’s bed, and John strumming a guitar. Bardot’s indifference quickly turned to irritation; before long she asked them to leave.

John returned home, where his friend Pete Shotton was staying. ‘What happened, what happened? I can’t bear the suspense another minute!’ said Pete.

‘F ***** g nothing happened,’ said John. ‘I was so f ***** g nervous that I dropped some acid before we went in and got completely out of me head. The only thing I said to her all night was hello, when we went to shake hands with her. Then she spent the whole time talking in French with her friends, and I could never think of anything to say.’

It had been, he concluded, ‘a f ***** g terrible evening’.