Despite their humble origins growing up in working-class Liverpool, nothing could hold them back, even as sophisticated Londoners looked down their noses at these lads from the supposedly uncouth British north country. Their fantastic commercial success was something as a teenager I could dream about for myself either in music or some other still-to-be-determined pursuit.

I consider myself an honest person, almost to a fault. So the next morning, I went back to the store to pay for the jar, where I summoned the young associate manning customer service to explain what happened, probably ad nauseam, as his expression turned to bewilderment or stupefaction when I related how it was all a purely innocent mistake that I wanted to rectify. His face went blank when I asked if I could have the senior discount on the price, $3.80, especially since I thought it shouldn’t cost more than 50 cents.