Ringo layed in the hotel bed, groaning as he tried to get comfortable. He watched his assistant walk past with some stacks of fan mail, he sat up, a sad look on his face

"Excuse me? could you be a angel and give me a massage? me back 's killin' me."

Ringo requested, a pleading look on his soft face. The past few weeks had been taking a toll on him. His kids were being a nightmare and his wife had become abit naggier than usual. His drum skills had worsened ever since he rejoined the Beatles after 1968. He loved working with the band but it seemed John and Paul were at eachothers throats.