For some reason John Lennon is on my mind.

Perhaps it is because my son has gone to Liverpool to study and I discovered he lives five minutes from John Lennon’s birthplace.

Perhaps it is because I have moved home and have discovered that I live five minutes from the house he lived in when he wrote “Imagine” at Tittenhurst Park near Ascot.

Perhaps it’s because when I’m running in Poole at the chain ferry all I can think about is the famous picture of John coming up the slipway with his Aunt Mimi and a very young Sean Lennon in hand. John bought his Aunt a house on Sandbanks in Poole to thank her for bringing him up.

Perhaps it’s because I’m still obsessed with the John Lennon AI machine on the Internet that you can chat to and get responses like ” I don’t know man, I just write songs”.

With my Garmin smart watch running I ran from Liverpool Hope University down the leafy walled rich suburbs of Taggart Avenue to Menlove Avenue.

I can hear John saying “Why are you sharing your heart rate with others man, that belongs to you?”. “It is your data man, don’t let them have it”

Past rather nice homes.

Past really nice homes.

Past really nice gate homes.

Past Strawberry Fields where John used to play.

A poor place to be brought up?

No, a very nice area. John’s Aunt Mimi lived in a lovely semi-detached house near the park immortilised by the song Strawberry fields.

His Aunt said that if he was caught again playing in the fields they would “hang him”.

They think that’s the reason they think the line “Strawberry fields, nothing to get hung about” was created.

All I can say is “Strawberry Fields forever”.