We had to stay in Honolulu for a couple of days awaiting the connection to Tahiti, so to get away from Waikiki we drove up to the north of the island to a beach where no one knew us. Then we flew to Tahiti, and at Papeete was waiting the sailing boat that we'd booked. We went to a couple of shops there, where John and I bought cool-looking, dark green oilskin macs.
We slept on the boat that night and started sailing first thing the next morning - but as soon as we were out of the harbour we got into a really rough channel of water. We had to keep the engine going, and the boat had just been painted so it stunk of diesel and paint. We couldn't go below because of the fumes, so we lay holding on to the deck. Soon Cynthia and I were feeling sick and puked everywhere. The day seemed long, but eventually, as the sun was setting, we anchored at the next island. We were so ill that we just got into our bunks and went to sleep.
The next morning I woke and looked out of the porthole. It was fantastic. At that time we'd hardly been anywhere out of England, and never to anywhere that was tropical. It was incredible; a smooth lagoon with the island in the background, with mountains and coconut palms. Five or six Tahitians were paddling an outrigger canoe, gliding across the calm sea. It blissed me out.
We had a great time swimming, snorkelling and sailing from island to island. John spent some of the time writing A Spaniard In The Works, and I remember coming up with a lot of little phrases while he sat at the table making it up and speaking it out. If anybody said anything it would go in the book.
Cynthia and Pattie had long black wigs which they wore as disguises. John and I put their wigs on, and our oilskin macs, and made a little 8mm film about natives on an island with a missionary - John - who comes out of the ocean to convert them.
Our 'yacht' turned out to be a rather elderly fishing boat and it rained torrentially, monsoon style, for the first couple of days. I was seasick and wished we'd never set out. But once the storm had passed we had a wonderful time. Our Tahitian crew was happy and helpful and, much to our delight, had no idea who the boys were. The cook specialised in potatoes cooked a different way each night, which meant John and I went home considerably fatter. We lay on deck, swam, talked and ate and, best of all, the press never found us.
In Tahiti we were OK; we escaped there. Once we were on the boat, no one got near us - except for one fella from Sydney who we didn't speak to. He swam with us, saying, 'Can I come on your boat?' We said 'no' and he had to swim miles back!
John Lennon, 1964
I was writing The Singularge Experience of Miss Anne Duffield, the Sherlock Holmes piece; it was the longest one I'd ever done. I was seeing how far I could go. I would have gone on and on and made a whole book out of it, but I couldn't.
I read one or two Conan Doyle books when I was younger, but on the boat that we'd hired there was a set of them. There was nothing else on the boat but books, half of them were in French and half of them in English. Tahiti and all those islands - great, but I still got into reading. I read every book that was in English whether I liked it or not; through boredom, really. There just happened to be a big volume of Sherlock Holmes, a sort of madman's Sherlock Holmes where you get all the stories in one; and I realised that every story was the same. They're all pretty similar; and that's what I was doing, writing all of them into one. So I wrote one Shamrock Womlbs after three weeks of Sherlock Holmes in Tahiti.