"The story began in Harold Macmillan’s “never had it so good” ’50s Britain. It should be fiction: four teenagers with no more than eight O’Levels between them, running and biking and busing and busking all over Liverpool in search of new chords and old guitars and half-decent drum kit and any gig at all.
They were determined to amount to something (in George’s words “we just had this amazing inner feeling of: ‘We’re going to do it’. I don’t know why… we were just cocky”) and make a record (in Ringo’s words "you’d kill for that bit of plastic and make some money and have a laugh and shout.") That would do to be going on with.
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