How many fifth Beatles were there?

Easy. There was one: Stuart Sutcliffe, the hopeless bassist who understood his limitations and who, in 1961, opted to stay in Hamburg with his girlfriend rather than return to Liverpool with the other four.

Of course, it's not that simple. Neil Aspinall, the man who did more to keep the Beatles alive than any man - especially the Beatles themselves - died on Monday. His place in history remains as insecure as it was in life. On hearing the news, the BBC acclaimed him as the Beatles' "guru"; by tea-time he had been downgraded to "ally". In truth, he was a quill-free Boswell: first a van driver, then an assistant and latterly Apple Corp's gatekeeper and curator. Nobody quite understood what he did, so he was often called the fifth Beatle.

Alas for Aspinall and his place in posterity, he is not the only fifth Beatle. In fact, there are so many of the blighters that even a male voice choir might regard the so-called Fab Four as ludicrously overmanned. Anyone who has ever shaken hands with a Beatle seems to get the nod - from suave Klaus Voorman, who designed the Revolver sleeve, to ill-fated roadie Mal Evans.

Aspinall was never an equal, and producer George Martin was an enabler rather than an innovator and collaborator. PR Derek Taylor was merely a firefighter, although his cheeky suggestion of "London" as the fifth Beatle (after all, it was the backdrop to their every meaningful move) is not without merit. Manager Brian Epstein thought he was a Beatle, yet when they needed anything done beyond organising tours he was out of his depth.

Nobody, of course, would be foolish enough to suggest Yoko Ono. Or Linda McCartney. In short, after Sutcliffe's departure, nobody came close.