Nostalgia. It takes you back. To times that were innocent and good, and that are gone.

There was a time when Paul was ridiculed for sentimentality and wistful longing in his live performances. When he appeared to obsess over the past, lamenting the loss of his dearly beloved. When his refrain seemed a dirge of 'If Onlys' - for Linda, for John, for Hamburg, all the way back to childhood Liverpool, most of a century ago, when the Beatles dream was a ripple in a stream of ambition. When the four were little more than fans themselves. When it was about music.

It is again. No more lonely nights, thanks to now-wife Nancy. Whose hand, he says, he will want to hold forever. No more bittersweet yearnings for the gone years, the places and faces that can never return. Paul has found the plot. He celebrates all that he came from, but he is rooted firmly in the now. Making the present count.

The voice gives in a little, halfway. What we hear may well be the voice of Yesterday. Who cares. He  defies gravity.

This was the first time I was able to take my younger two children to see and hear for themselves what I've long gone on about. They got it.