Mucca
Rock n' Roll Doggie FOB
WildHoney said:Are they postable pics......
Susan you better not be holding back on the rest of us
Pleban party - in our wildest dreams...
- Thread starter Sad_Girl
- Start date
The friendliest place on the web for anyone that follows U2.
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If you have answers, please help by responding to the unanswered posts.
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Susan you better not be holding back on the rest of us
greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
Hi Wild 
Honey, hehe.
Susan, I'll be gone on Thurs. You will have to remember the page for me so that when I get back I don't have to look thru 14 threads at 500 + posts.
And I want to know where all the caps are too while I'm gone.
I am so tired. Had to take the dog to my p's in St Louis and drive back today. Left at 12 and just got back. But I got to see some old neighboors (The Neunabers, hehe) that I haven't seen in years. They were about 10-15 yrs older than me, so its funny that I still think of them as kids.
Honey, hehe.Susan, I'll be gone on Thurs. You will have to remember the page for me so that when I get back I don't have to look thru 14 threads at 500 + posts.
And I want to know where all the caps are too while I'm gone.
I am so tired. Had to take the dog to my p's in St Louis and drive back today. Left at 12 and just got back. But I got to see some old neighboors (The Neunabers, hehe) that I haven't seen in years. They were about 10-15 yrs older than me, so its funny that I still think of them as kids.
Ah well - never mind! I'll bring the article from the paper when i come down!
God, i am so gagging for that Corbijn book, but it's FAR too expensive for me to get&i keep looking out to get it reduced!
I've noticed that on Amazon, they seem to have an address for US/Canada to buy it almost half price, but no Brit site????
I looked all over in the shops here about 6 weeks back&the only place i saw it in was Waterstones, where i proceeded to look thru it!!!!!! That is one fantastic&spectacular book!!! I so love the ones with Ali&the babies!!!!
SO sweet!!
God, i am so gagging for that Corbijn book, but it's FAR too expensive for me to get&i keep looking out to get it reduced!
I've noticed that on Amazon, they seem to have an address for US/Canada to buy it almost half price, but no Brit site????
I looked all over in the shops here about 6 weeks back&the only place i saw it in was Waterstones, where i proceeded to look thru it!!!!!! That is one fantastic&spectacular book!!! I so love the ones with Ali&the babies!!!!
SO sweet!!greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
WildHoney said:Are they postable pics
Did you see thread for the hotest chicks?
SOMEONE.....asked if he should put me on there, HA!!
Maybe we'll put Susan over there, instead.
bonoishot
Protecting my eyes ARRRR!!!
WildHoney said:Susan
Can't find review on the site
Can you imagine ainstead of BB we had PGP - Pleba girls stuck in a house with the boys.....
just been to look back at the site, theyve changed it
must be updated for tommorows news now
i still have 1 of the pages up in a window in my comp, i'll cut and paste it
That's a shame you'll have to wait til youo come back GG! I'll remember page for you! Enjoy your trip&I wish i was going there! Looks spooky around there!!!! Wow!
Of course they'll be posteable Wild!!! Why wouldn't they be??
Mucca - I said i'd send them to Wild as i don't really quite know how to post them(altho i must get round to it!)&GG gave me the idea of having someone else do it! Good thinking eh????
Oh god! Wed or Thurs nite, i'll be holding my breathe!!!
What email are you talking about Wild?
Of course they'll be posteable Wild!!! Why wouldn't they be??
Mucca - I said i'd send them to Wild as i don't really quite know how to post them(altho i must get round to it!)&GG gave me the idea of having someone else do it! Good thinking eh????
Oh god! Wed or Thurs nite, i'll be holding my breathe!!!
What email are you talking about Wild?
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
I can't wait til Thursday! 
greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
Susan, are you going to visit Wild?
greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
I miss my puppy already.
bonoishot
Protecting my eyes ARRRR!!!
Here it is girls 
i still had it up in a window in my comp
sorry its so long
The Sunday Times - Review
May 29, 2005
The day the Pope stole my shades
Bono, rock star and champion of the poor, tells Michka Assayas the secrets of his pursuit of the powerful
One question I always used to ask when I started wandering around the corridors of power in Washington was: “Who’s the Elvis here?” In whatever area I was, I wanted to know who’s the boss, who’s the capo di tutti capi.
“Who’s Elvis,” I used to ask, at banking? And they’d say: “Well, in development, it’s the World Bank, it’s Jim Wolfensohn, it’s the people running the International Monetary Fund.”
It’s Robert Rubin, who was the treasury secretary of the United States, his signature was on every dollar; it’s Paul Volcker, who was the legendary chairman of the Federal Reserve, the Alan Greenspan of his age. So I used to go and meet them.
It wasn’t enough just to talk to President Clinton. Oddly enough, Bill Clinton’s staff used to call him Elvis anyway.
You went from friend of Bill Clinton to flashing a peace sign in a photo op with George W Bush.
I was in a photo with President Bush because he’d put $10 billion over three years on the table in a breakthrough increase in foreign assistance called the Millennium Challenge. I had just got back from accompanying the president as he announced this at the Inter-American Development Bank.
I kept my face straight as we passed the press corps, but the peace sign was pretty funny. He thought so, too. Keeping his face straight, he whispered, “There goes a front page somewhere: Irish rock star with the Toxic Texan.”
I think the swagger and the cowboy boots come with some humour. He is a funny guy. Even on the way to the bank he was taking the piss. The bulletproof motorcade is speeding through the streets of the capital with people waving at the leader of the free world, and him waving back.
I say: “You’re pretty popular here!”
He goes: “It wasn’t always so . . .” — Oh really? — “Yeah. When I first came to this town, people used to wave at me with one finger. Now, they found another three fingers and a thumb.”
So you liked this man?
Yes. As a man, I believed him when he said he was moved to also do something about the Aids pandemic. I believed him. Listen, I couldn’t come from a more different place, politically, socially, geographically. I had to make a leap of faith to sit there. He didn’t have to have me there at all. But you don’t have to be harmonious on everything — just one thing — to get along with someone.
Harry Belafonte, one of my great heroes, an old-school leftist, told me a story about Bobby Kennedy, which changed my life — indeed, pointed me in the direction I am going now politically.
Harry remembered a meeting with Martin Luther King when the civil rights movement had hit a wall in the early Sixties: “I tell you it was a depressing moment when Bobby Kennedy was made attorney-general. It was a very bad day for the civil rights movement.
“Bobby Kennedy was Irish. Those Irish were real racists; they didn’t like the black man. They were just one step above the black man on the social ladder, and they made us feel it. They were all the police, they were the people who broke our balls on a daily basis.
“Bobby at that time was famously not interested in the civil rights movement. We knew we were in deep trouble. We were crestfallen, in despair, talking to Martin, moaning and groaning about the turn of events, when Dr King slammed his hand down and ordered us to stop the bitchin’.
“‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Is there nobody here who’s got something good to say about Bobby Kennedy?’
“We said: ‘Martin, that’s what we’re telling ya! There is no one. There is nothing good to say about him. The guy’s an Irish Catholic conservative badass, he’s bad news.’
“To which Martin replied: ‘Well, then, let’s call this meeting to a close. We will re-adjourn when somebody has found one thing redeeming to say about Bobby Kennedy, because that, my friends, is the door through which our movement will pass’.”
Well, it turned out that Bobby was very close with his bishop. So they befriended the one man who could get through to Bobby’s soul and turned him into their Trojan horse.
Harry became emotional at the end of this tale: “When Bobby Kennedy lay dead on a Los Angeles pavement, there was no greater friend to the civil rights movement. There was no one we owed more of our progress to than that man.”
Whether he was exaggerating or not, that was a great lesson for me, because what Dr King was saying was: Don’t respond to caricature — the left, the right, the progressives, the reactionary. Don’t take people on rumour. Find the light in them, because that will further your cause.
What was your gut feeling the first time you came face to face with President Bush?
He was very funny and quick. Just quick-witted. With him, I got pretty quickly to the point, and the point was an unarguable one — that 6,500 people dying every day of a preventable and treatable disease [Aids] would not be acceptable anywhere else in the world other than Africa, and that before God and history this was a kind of racism that was unacceptable.
And he agreed: “Yeah, it’s unacceptable.” He said: “In fact, it’s a kind of genocide.”
He used the word “genocide”, which I took to imply our complicity in this, which I absolutely agree with. Later, his staff tried to take the edge off the word. But in the Rose Garden there was press, and I already had used the word.
He really helped us in using that word. He knew it was hyperbole, but it was effective. We get on very well. I couldn’t come from a more different place. We disagree on so many things. But he was moved by my account of what was happening in Africa. He was engaged.
I think, when I’m sitting two feet from someone, I could tell if this was just politics. This was personal. I think, for all the swagger, this Texan thing, he has a religious instinct that keeps him humble.
You mean that right-wing fundamentalist neocon scary stuff?
Actually, he’s a Methodist. It has to be said that most of the people in the cabinet are not religious extremists.
But you must have disagreed with him at some point.
He banged the table at me once, when I was ranting at him about the ARVs [Aids drugs] not getting out quick enough. I’m Irish. When we get excited we don’t pause for breath, no full stops or commas. He banged the table to ask me to let him reply. He smilingly reminded me he was the president. It was a heated debate. I was very impressed that he could get so passionate. And, let’s face it, tolerating an Irish rock star is not a necessity of his office.
You recently met Senator Jesse Helms, who as chairman of the Senate foreign relations committee in the Eighties did whatever he could to suppress the Sandinistas.
People said to me: this is the devil himself you’re going to meet, and his politics are just right of Attila the Hun. But I found him to be a beautiful man with convictions that I wouldn’t all agree with but had to accept that he believed in them passionately.
This is happening to me a lot. I am discovering how much respect I have for people who stay true to their convictions, no matter how unpopular. As you get older, your idea of good guys and bad guys changes.
Jesse Helms did me and everyone working on the global Aids emergency a great favour when he came out in our support. It was a great irony for me to find myself feeling such affection for this old cold warrior.
He did an incredible thing: he publicly repented for the way he had thought about HIV/Aids. Politicians rarely do that. He really changed the way people on the right thought about this disease.
What sort of vibe did you get when you saw Clinton for the first time?
It was a hot day in DC, and I hadn’t expected it to be. I was wearing a blue cashmere coat, which I thought was pretty smart.
But because it was so hot I had to take it off, leaving me with a T-shirt, combat pants and boots in the Oval Office. So I looked like a member of our road crew.
I thought that he looked more like a pop star than I did, because I really did look like I’d come out from under a car. His staff and he himself just burst out laughing.
We wrote many letters, we corresponded, we talked. But until after he left office I never knew how hard he had to fight for debt cancellation. I remember his chief economic adviser, Gene Sperling, told me just how frustrated the president was at not being able to further my proposal.
At one point I had sent him a letter. Gene was called up to the top cabin in Air Force One, and the president was screaming at him at the top of his voice, pointing at my letter, going: “Why aren’t we doing this?”
So, you know, that would give you faith that a person with so much on his mind and plate had not just an ear for the melody but a heart for the world’s poor, and be banging the table in frustration at his own civil service’s inability to work it through.
Did Germany’s Chancellor Gerhard Schröder catch on to a melody you sang to him?
I only met him a few times. We drank beer the first time. On other occasions he wasn’t so relaxed. I suppose it’s hard to relax when someone like me has their hand in your pocket.
Have you tried to put your hand in [President] Putin’s pocket? I hear he’s a black belt of karate.
He did ask me to go to work for him on Russia’s debt. He was joking, and I laughed, creating one of the worst moments for me ever captured in a photograph.
Tony Blair had introduced me and Bob Geldof to him. It was a G8 meeting in Genoa. The city looked like a war zone. A lot of people got hurt in riots. A young man lost his life to an Italian policeman, and I was documented the other side of the riot line, laughing with the politicians. I did not know about this tragedy at the time, but it is an example of how my glad-handing and discussion approach can be badly misinterpreted and how sometimes I’m not as smart as I think.
Putin was an expert. He was meticulously turned out, not a nose hair out of place, obviously a very big brain, and very charming. I wasn’t there to talk about Chechnya. Maybe I shouldn’t have been there at all.
Do you get a lot of flak from the aggressive left? In those moments you’re a long way from the barricades.
I know it would look much better for me to be standing handkerchief over my nose and a molotov cocktail in my hand. But my deepest conviction is that making our intellectual case rigorous and keeping our support broad by a large peaceful grassroots movement is the only way we’ll get this job done. It doesn’t belong to the left or right.
But isn’t the left more your friend than the right?
Not necessarily so. The left may offer more money to fight Aids or deal with the debt burden, but they scuttle off when we talk to them about trade reform. The CAP [common agricultural policy] — so supported by the left — denies African products access to our supermarket shelves while we flood them with subsidised produce.
So who’s your favourite politician?
It would have to be Gorbachev, a genuinely soulful man who, following the courage of his convictions, left himself so open to criticism in what was the USSR. Some people despise him for the dismantling of that old giant. But without him the 20th century might have had a very different end.
We talk every few months, even now. He came to Ireland once and I forgot to tell Ali [Mrs Bono] he might call. It was Sunday lunch. Sundays it’s like a train station in our house. People call over to sit around, eat lunch, drink wine. The front doorbell rang. Ali answered the door, not expecting to see the former head of the Soviet bloc standing with a giant teddy bear, his present for our baby John.
I know Ali does a lot of work in Russia, “the Children of Chernobyl”.
She regularly drives convoys of supplies from Ireland to Russia, and they bring back sick children for holidays in Ireland. The really mad thing was one of her favourite children of Belarus, Anastasia, was staying with us at the time.
We were all sitting around the table, with President Gorbachev nursing an Irish whiskey, some old friends, when in walked on her calipers Anastasia. She was born without legs from the knees down, part of the problem of radioactive land where she grew up.
Gorbachev couldn’t believe what was happening to him when we explained who she was. He was visibly moved. He lifted her up onto his knee and told the table that he could divide his life into two halves: before and after Chernobyl. It was the moment he realised the Soviet Union couldn’t continue as it was.
That man had had his finger on the second-largest nuclear arsenal in the world.
I asked him about that: did he ever come close to opening that box? He looked at me straight in the eye and said there could and never would be an occasion to use that power, and that from a very young age he had known this was madness. I also asked him: did he believe in God? He said: “No, but I believe in the universe.”
And what do you believe in?
Well, I think I know what God is. God is love, and as much as I respond in allowing myself to be transformed by that love and acting in that love, that’s my religion.
Religion can be the enemy of God. It’s often what happens when God, like Elvis, has left the building. A list of instructions where there was once was conviction; dogma where once people just did it; a congregation led by a man where once they were led by the Holy Spirit. Discipline replacing discipleship. Why are you chuckling?
I was wondering if you said all of that to the Pope the day you met him.
I was with a few great people: Jeff Sachs, the economist; Bob Geldof; Quincy Jones [the musician], who’s been a mentor to me — a deadly serious man, but he kept whispering to me to check out the Holy Father’s shoes: ox-blood loafers.
“These are some funky slippers,” he was saying.
There were some nervous giggles, but we all knew why we were there. The pontiff was about to make an important statement about the inhumanity and injustice of poor countries spending so much of their national income paying back old loans to rich countries. Serious business.
He was fighting hard against his Parkinson’s. It was clearly an act of will for him to be there. I was oddly moved . . . by his humility, and then by the incredible speech he made, even if it was in whispers.
During the preamble, he seemed to be staring at me. I wondered. Was it the fact that I was wearing my blue fly-shades? So I took them off in case I was causing some offence. When I was introduced to him he was still staring at them. He kept looking at them in my hand, so I offered them to him as a gift in return for the rosary he had just given me.
Not only did he put them on, he smiled the wickedest grin you could ever imagine. He was a comedian. His sense of humour was completely intact. Flashbulbs popped, and I thought: “Wow! The Drop the Debt campaign will have the Pope in my glasses on the
front page of every newspaper.”
I don’t remember seeing that photograph anywhere.
Nor did we. It seems his courtiers did not have the same sense of humour.
A few years ago, Q magazine ran a list of the most powerful people in the music business. And higher than Madonna or the chairman of Sony Music was Bono. So do you think you are one of the most powerful men in the world today?
I don’t have any real power, but the people I represent do. The reason why politicians let me in the door, and the reason why people will take my call, is because I represent quite a large constituency of people. I do not control that constituency, but I represent them in a certain sense, even without them asking me to, in the minds of the people whose doors I knock upon.
That constituency is a very powerful one, because it is a constituency of people from 18 to 30, who are the floating vote. They have not yet made their mind up which way they’re going to vote. They’re the most open-minded, and that’s why politicians pay attention to what’s going on in contemporary culture and what a rock star might have to do with all of this: because of the people I represent.
Now, outside of that, I represent a lot of people who have no voice at all. In the world’s order of things, they’re the people who count the least. There are 6,500 people who are dying every day of Aids in Africa for no good reason. I now represent them. They haven’t asked me either. It’s cheeky, but I hope they’re glad I do, and in God’s order of things, they’re the most important.
So I think that imbues you with a power way beyond anything that you might have an influence on, being in a pop band. It’s a certain moral authority that’s way beyond your own life and capabilities.
The punch you throw is not your own. It has the force of a much bigger issue.
© Michka Assayas 2005
Extracted from Bono on Bono: Conversations with Michka Assayas to be published by Hodder on June 6 at £18.99. Copies can be ordered for £15.19 + £2.25 p&p from The Sunday Times Books Direct on 0870 165 8585. Michka Assayas, a French journalist, has known Bono for 25 years
Losing my mother at 14 changed everything
After my mother died, I think I tortured my brother and my father. There were three men living alone in a house. There were some awful times that we shared, about as low as you can get for three men. I remember, physically, my father trying to knock me out. I never returned fire, but it was hard.
Early on I had supreme confidence in myself and I was probably arrogant with it. I was very able intellectually in a lot of ways. I was popular. And then it cracked. Every teenager goes through an awkward phase, and that was just exacerbated, I suppose, by there not being anyone in the house.
The death of my mother really affected my confidence. I would go back to my house after school, but it wasn’t a home. She was gone. Our mother was gone, the beautiful Iris . . . I felt abandoned, afraid. I guess fear converts to anger pretty quickly. It’s still with me.
What else does it convert to?
I like to be around people. One of the things that I love to do is to go to lunch. I’ll gravitate towards the best restaurant in the city. I think I go because, when I was a kid, food had no love at all in it. I really resented it. I couldn’t taste it because she . . . my mother wasn’t there.
You mean you had to cook for yourself at a very early age?
I even went as far as robbing groceries from the shops and giving the money I was given by my father for groceries to my friends.
I hated mealtimes. It was comic tragedy. My brother, who used to work in the national airline, discovered he could buy airline food at a cheap rate. So he used to bring these packaged meals home and our fridge was full of it.
Then an amazing thing happened. Our high school was near the airport. They decided they were gonna do school lunches. So they bought them at the airport. I used to eat airline food at lunch. I would go home, eat the same f****** airline food for dinner. What happens then? You join a rock’n’roll band and spend the rest of your life eating airline food.
Your brother was seven years older. Did you get on with him?
I’m sure I was a pain in the arse to be around. My brother would come home from work, I’d be sitting there with my mates and be watching TV. I wouldn’t have done the washing up or something I said I would do. He would say something or he’d slam the door; we’d end up in a row. There was literally blood on our kitchen walls. I mean, we could really go at it.
I remember once we had a big fight and I threw a knife at him. I didn’t throw it to kill him; I just threw it to scare him. And it stuck into the door: boing . . . And he looked down at it, and I looked at it. And I realised: I didn’t mean to, but I could have killed him. And I think both of us wept, and both of us admitted that we were just angry at each other because we didn’t know how to grieve . . . Because my mother was never mentioned.
Never?
After she died, my father didn’t talk about her. So it never came up. So that’s why I don’t have any memories of my mother, which is strange.
She collapsed at the funeral of her own father. She never regained consciousness. Well, actually, we don’t know if she did or she didn’t. My father, when he was losing it or we’d been having a big row, would say: “I promised your mother on her deathbed that . . .” Then he never finished the sentence.
A very charming, very amusing, very likable man, but he was deeply cynical about the world and the characters in it. My father’s advice to me, without ever speaking it, was: “Don’t dream! To dream is to be disappointed.” And yet the thing he regretted the most in his life is that he hadn’t become a musician and a singer.
I got to make peace with him, but never really to become his friend. Nothing extraordinary here, just Irish macho stuff. We never really could talk.
We used to go down the pub on Sundays and we would drink together. We drank whiskey, Irish whiskey, of course. Occasionally he would ask a real question, meaning I had to give him a real answer. It was always about my belief in God: “There’s one thing I envy of you. I don’t envy anything else,” he said to me one time. “You do seem to have a relationship with God.”
And I said: “Didn’t you ever have one?” “No.”
“But you have been a Catholic for most of your life.”
“Yeah, lots of people are Catholic. It was a one-way conversation . . . You seem to hear something back from the silence!” “That’s true,” I said. “I do. I hear it in some sort of instinctive way, I feel a response to a prayer, or I feel led in a direction. Or if I’m studying the scriptures, they become alive in an odd way, and they make sense to the moment I’m in, they’re no longer a historical document.” He was mind-blown by this.
In his last days, when I used to come and visit him in the hospital, all he could do was whisper. He had Parkinson’s. I would lie beside him at night on a roll-up bed. Occasionally I would read to him . . . Shakespeare. He loved Shakespeare. If I read the Bible he would just scowl. It was like: “F*** off!” In fact, the last thing he said was “F*** off”. I was lying beside him in the middle of the night and I heard a shout. So I called the nurse. He was back to whispers, and we both put our ears to his mouth.
And the nurse was saying: “Bob, are you okay? So what are you saying? What’s that? What d’you need?”
“F*** off!” he said. “Would you ever f*** off and get me out of here? I wanna go home. This place is a prison cell.” And they were his last words.
Ali said to me that since his death I haven’t been myself, and that I have been a lot more aggressive and quicker to anger, and showing some of my father’s irascible side.
When he died (in August 2001), I went on a short vacation, which turned into a euphemism for “drinks outing”. I don’t like to abuse alcohol — anything you abuse will abuse you back. But it’s fair to say I went to Bali for a drink. With my friend Simon (Carmody, screenwriter), we just headed off. I wanted to blow it out a bit, get the monkey off my back. But when I returned, funnily enough, it was still there.
And so just on Easter (2002), I went up to the church in a little village where we live in France, and I just felt this was the moment that I had to let it go. In this little church, on Easter morning, I just got down on my knees and I let go of whatever anger I had against my father. And I thanked God for him being my father, and for the gifts that I have been given through him. And I let go of that. I wept, and I felt rid of it.
From flirting with evangelism to global rock god
Bono, real name Paul Hewson, was born in Ballymun, Dublin, in 1960. His mother was Protestant, his father Catholic: “That was a big deal in those days because they weren’t really allowed to be married.”
He was 14 when his mother died. At the time he was a pupil at Dublin’s Mount Temple school, where he not only met the three schoolmates who later formed U2 with him but also fell for another fellow pupil, Alison “Ali” Stewart. They married in 1982 and, with four children, have survived the pressures that destroy many rock star marriages. Ali gave up plans for a medical career but became a passionate campaigner, particularly for the children of Chernobyl.
U2 is now the world’s biggest-selling rock band, currently on a tour in the United States that is expected to reap $300m (£165m), well ahead of receipts predicted for the Rolling Stones. When U2 was created in the late 1970s it distinguished itself from other bands by its idealistic streak. Bono and Dave “the Edge” Evans became involved with Christian evangelists and in 1981 considered breaking up U2 as “frivolous”. However, they concluded that “ the music isn’t bollocks. This kind of fundamentalism is what’s bollocks”.
Live Aid in 1985 was the launchpad for both U2’s international success and Bono’s parallel career as an anti-poverty campaigner, starting with a six-month visit to Ethiopia with Ali. By the late 1990s he was lobbying world leaders on debt, Aids, and trade for Africa while also being hailed as the “world’s greatest rock star”.
He says: “I see the embarrassment, excruciating at times, of ‘rich rock star works on behalf of the poorest and most vulnerable’. Yet you can’t deny who you are ... and I can use this ridiculous thing called celebrity to the advantage of these issues.”
Why Bono?
I can’t remember when Ali started calling me Bono. I was 16, I’d say. Before Bono, I was Steinvic von Huyseman, and then just Huyseman, and then Houseman, then Bon Murray, Bono Vox of O’Connell Street, and then just Bono.
On Bob Dylan
I think he is a very tenacious character. I think underneath all the so-called eccentricity, which I think is just a mask, there’s a very true person. He’s a good father — I’ve seen him with his children — with a moral compass, and who can get lost at sea like everybody. But I think he’s very strong.
Mick and Keith: two true gentlemen
They’re both extremely old fashioned. Mick’s children have impeccable manners. I remember one of his little girls came up to me and said: “People think my daddy’s the devil and he lets them!” Keith is exactly the same. Keith would light a cigarette for you, talks respectfully in front of women, would never make a coarse comment about women, has a nobility in his human relationships, and was tougher than anyone. But no one (person) is tougher than drink or drugs. He has probably taken a few swipes from both. But he’s still standing and still funny and still throwing a few swipes back! He’s like a Hemingway character, The Old Man and the Sea, or something.
i still had it up in a window in my comp
sorry its so long
The Sunday Times - Review
May 29, 2005
The day the Pope stole my shades
Bono, rock star and champion of the poor, tells Michka Assayas the secrets of his pursuit of the powerful
One question I always used to ask when I started wandering around the corridors of power in Washington was: “Who’s the Elvis here?” In whatever area I was, I wanted to know who’s the boss, who’s the capo di tutti capi.
“Who’s Elvis,” I used to ask, at banking? And they’d say: “Well, in development, it’s the World Bank, it’s Jim Wolfensohn, it’s the people running the International Monetary Fund.”
It’s Robert Rubin, who was the treasury secretary of the United States, his signature was on every dollar; it’s Paul Volcker, who was the legendary chairman of the Federal Reserve, the Alan Greenspan of his age. So I used to go and meet them.
It wasn’t enough just to talk to President Clinton. Oddly enough, Bill Clinton’s staff used to call him Elvis anyway.
You went from friend of Bill Clinton to flashing a peace sign in a photo op with George W Bush.
I was in a photo with President Bush because he’d put $10 billion over three years on the table in a breakthrough increase in foreign assistance called the Millennium Challenge. I had just got back from accompanying the president as he announced this at the Inter-American Development Bank.
I kept my face straight as we passed the press corps, but the peace sign was pretty funny. He thought so, too. Keeping his face straight, he whispered, “There goes a front page somewhere: Irish rock star with the Toxic Texan.”
I think the swagger and the cowboy boots come with some humour. He is a funny guy. Even on the way to the bank he was taking the piss. The bulletproof motorcade is speeding through the streets of the capital with people waving at the leader of the free world, and him waving back.
I say: “You’re pretty popular here!”
He goes: “It wasn’t always so . . .” — Oh really? — “Yeah. When I first came to this town, people used to wave at me with one finger. Now, they found another three fingers and a thumb.”
So you liked this man?
Yes. As a man, I believed him when he said he was moved to also do something about the Aids pandemic. I believed him. Listen, I couldn’t come from a more different place, politically, socially, geographically. I had to make a leap of faith to sit there. He didn’t have to have me there at all. But you don’t have to be harmonious on everything — just one thing — to get along with someone.
Harry Belafonte, one of my great heroes, an old-school leftist, told me a story about Bobby Kennedy, which changed my life — indeed, pointed me in the direction I am going now politically.
Harry remembered a meeting with Martin Luther King when the civil rights movement had hit a wall in the early Sixties: “I tell you it was a depressing moment when Bobby Kennedy was made attorney-general. It was a very bad day for the civil rights movement.
“Bobby Kennedy was Irish. Those Irish were real racists; they didn’t like the black man. They were just one step above the black man on the social ladder, and they made us feel it. They were all the police, they were the people who broke our balls on a daily basis.
“Bobby at that time was famously not interested in the civil rights movement. We knew we were in deep trouble. We were crestfallen, in despair, talking to Martin, moaning and groaning about the turn of events, when Dr King slammed his hand down and ordered us to stop the bitchin’.
“‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Is there nobody here who’s got something good to say about Bobby Kennedy?’
“We said: ‘Martin, that’s what we’re telling ya! There is no one. There is nothing good to say about him. The guy’s an Irish Catholic conservative badass, he’s bad news.’
“To which Martin replied: ‘Well, then, let’s call this meeting to a close. We will re-adjourn when somebody has found one thing redeeming to say about Bobby Kennedy, because that, my friends, is the door through which our movement will pass’.”
Well, it turned out that Bobby was very close with his bishop. So they befriended the one man who could get through to Bobby’s soul and turned him into their Trojan horse.
Harry became emotional at the end of this tale: “When Bobby Kennedy lay dead on a Los Angeles pavement, there was no greater friend to the civil rights movement. There was no one we owed more of our progress to than that man.”
Whether he was exaggerating or not, that was a great lesson for me, because what Dr King was saying was: Don’t respond to caricature — the left, the right, the progressives, the reactionary. Don’t take people on rumour. Find the light in them, because that will further your cause.
What was your gut feeling the first time you came face to face with President Bush?
He was very funny and quick. Just quick-witted. With him, I got pretty quickly to the point, and the point was an unarguable one — that 6,500 people dying every day of a preventable and treatable disease [Aids] would not be acceptable anywhere else in the world other than Africa, and that before God and history this was a kind of racism that was unacceptable.
And he agreed: “Yeah, it’s unacceptable.” He said: “In fact, it’s a kind of genocide.”
He used the word “genocide”, which I took to imply our complicity in this, which I absolutely agree with. Later, his staff tried to take the edge off the word. But in the Rose Garden there was press, and I already had used the word.
He really helped us in using that word. He knew it was hyperbole, but it was effective. We get on very well. I couldn’t come from a more different place. We disagree on so many things. But he was moved by my account of what was happening in Africa. He was engaged.
I think, when I’m sitting two feet from someone, I could tell if this was just politics. This was personal. I think, for all the swagger, this Texan thing, he has a religious instinct that keeps him humble.
You mean that right-wing fundamentalist neocon scary stuff?
Actually, he’s a Methodist. It has to be said that most of the people in the cabinet are not religious extremists.
But you must have disagreed with him at some point.
He banged the table at me once, when I was ranting at him about the ARVs [Aids drugs] not getting out quick enough. I’m Irish. When we get excited we don’t pause for breath, no full stops or commas. He banged the table to ask me to let him reply. He smilingly reminded me he was the president. It was a heated debate. I was very impressed that he could get so passionate. And, let’s face it, tolerating an Irish rock star is not a necessity of his office.
You recently met Senator Jesse Helms, who as chairman of the Senate foreign relations committee in the Eighties did whatever he could to suppress the Sandinistas.
People said to me: this is the devil himself you’re going to meet, and his politics are just right of Attila the Hun. But I found him to be a beautiful man with convictions that I wouldn’t all agree with but had to accept that he believed in them passionately.
This is happening to me a lot. I am discovering how much respect I have for people who stay true to their convictions, no matter how unpopular. As you get older, your idea of good guys and bad guys changes.
Jesse Helms did me and everyone working on the global Aids emergency a great favour when he came out in our support. It was a great irony for me to find myself feeling such affection for this old cold warrior.
He did an incredible thing: he publicly repented for the way he had thought about HIV/Aids. Politicians rarely do that. He really changed the way people on the right thought about this disease.
What sort of vibe did you get when you saw Clinton for the first time?
It was a hot day in DC, and I hadn’t expected it to be. I was wearing a blue cashmere coat, which I thought was pretty smart.
But because it was so hot I had to take it off, leaving me with a T-shirt, combat pants and boots in the Oval Office. So I looked like a member of our road crew.
I thought that he looked more like a pop star than I did, because I really did look like I’d come out from under a car. His staff and he himself just burst out laughing.
We wrote many letters, we corresponded, we talked. But until after he left office I never knew how hard he had to fight for debt cancellation. I remember his chief economic adviser, Gene Sperling, told me just how frustrated the president was at not being able to further my proposal.
At one point I had sent him a letter. Gene was called up to the top cabin in Air Force One, and the president was screaming at him at the top of his voice, pointing at my letter, going: “Why aren’t we doing this?”
So, you know, that would give you faith that a person with so much on his mind and plate had not just an ear for the melody but a heart for the world’s poor, and be banging the table in frustration at his own civil service’s inability to work it through.
Did Germany’s Chancellor Gerhard Schröder catch on to a melody you sang to him?
I only met him a few times. We drank beer the first time. On other occasions he wasn’t so relaxed. I suppose it’s hard to relax when someone like me has their hand in your pocket.
Have you tried to put your hand in [President] Putin’s pocket? I hear he’s a black belt of karate.
He did ask me to go to work for him on Russia’s debt. He was joking, and I laughed, creating one of the worst moments for me ever captured in a photograph.
Tony Blair had introduced me and Bob Geldof to him. It was a G8 meeting in Genoa. The city looked like a war zone. A lot of people got hurt in riots. A young man lost his life to an Italian policeman, and I was documented the other side of the riot line, laughing with the politicians. I did not know about this tragedy at the time, but it is an example of how my glad-handing and discussion approach can be badly misinterpreted and how sometimes I’m not as smart as I think.
Putin was an expert. He was meticulously turned out, not a nose hair out of place, obviously a very big brain, and very charming. I wasn’t there to talk about Chechnya. Maybe I shouldn’t have been there at all.
Do you get a lot of flak from the aggressive left? In those moments you’re a long way from the barricades.
I know it would look much better for me to be standing handkerchief over my nose and a molotov cocktail in my hand. But my deepest conviction is that making our intellectual case rigorous and keeping our support broad by a large peaceful grassroots movement is the only way we’ll get this job done. It doesn’t belong to the left or right.
But isn’t the left more your friend than the right?
Not necessarily so. The left may offer more money to fight Aids or deal with the debt burden, but they scuttle off when we talk to them about trade reform. The CAP [common agricultural policy] — so supported by the left — denies African products access to our supermarket shelves while we flood them with subsidised produce.
So who’s your favourite politician?
It would have to be Gorbachev, a genuinely soulful man who, following the courage of his convictions, left himself so open to criticism in what was the USSR. Some people despise him for the dismantling of that old giant. But without him the 20th century might have had a very different end.
We talk every few months, even now. He came to Ireland once and I forgot to tell Ali [Mrs Bono] he might call. It was Sunday lunch. Sundays it’s like a train station in our house. People call over to sit around, eat lunch, drink wine. The front doorbell rang. Ali answered the door, not expecting to see the former head of the Soviet bloc standing with a giant teddy bear, his present for our baby John.
I know Ali does a lot of work in Russia, “the Children of Chernobyl”.
She regularly drives convoys of supplies from Ireland to Russia, and they bring back sick children for holidays in Ireland. The really mad thing was one of her favourite children of Belarus, Anastasia, was staying with us at the time.
We were all sitting around the table, with President Gorbachev nursing an Irish whiskey, some old friends, when in walked on her calipers Anastasia. She was born without legs from the knees down, part of the problem of radioactive land where she grew up.
Gorbachev couldn’t believe what was happening to him when we explained who she was. He was visibly moved. He lifted her up onto his knee and told the table that he could divide his life into two halves: before and after Chernobyl. It was the moment he realised the Soviet Union couldn’t continue as it was.
That man had had his finger on the second-largest nuclear arsenal in the world.
I asked him about that: did he ever come close to opening that box? He looked at me straight in the eye and said there could and never would be an occasion to use that power, and that from a very young age he had known this was madness. I also asked him: did he believe in God? He said: “No, but I believe in the universe.”
And what do you believe in?
Well, I think I know what God is. God is love, and as much as I respond in allowing myself to be transformed by that love and acting in that love, that’s my religion.
Religion can be the enemy of God. It’s often what happens when God, like Elvis, has left the building. A list of instructions where there was once was conviction; dogma where once people just did it; a congregation led by a man where once they were led by the Holy Spirit. Discipline replacing discipleship. Why are you chuckling?
I was wondering if you said all of that to the Pope the day you met him.
I was with a few great people: Jeff Sachs, the economist; Bob Geldof; Quincy Jones [the musician], who’s been a mentor to me — a deadly serious man, but he kept whispering to me to check out the Holy Father’s shoes: ox-blood loafers.
“These are some funky slippers,” he was saying.
There were some nervous giggles, but we all knew why we were there. The pontiff was about to make an important statement about the inhumanity and injustice of poor countries spending so much of their national income paying back old loans to rich countries. Serious business.
He was fighting hard against his Parkinson’s. It was clearly an act of will for him to be there. I was oddly moved . . . by his humility, and then by the incredible speech he made, even if it was in whispers.
During the preamble, he seemed to be staring at me. I wondered. Was it the fact that I was wearing my blue fly-shades? So I took them off in case I was causing some offence. When I was introduced to him he was still staring at them. He kept looking at them in my hand, so I offered them to him as a gift in return for the rosary he had just given me.
Not only did he put them on, he smiled the wickedest grin you could ever imagine. He was a comedian. His sense of humour was completely intact. Flashbulbs popped, and I thought: “Wow! The Drop the Debt campaign will have the Pope in my glasses on the
front page of every newspaper.”
I don’t remember seeing that photograph anywhere.
Nor did we. It seems his courtiers did not have the same sense of humour.
A few years ago, Q magazine ran a list of the most powerful people in the music business. And higher than Madonna or the chairman of Sony Music was Bono. So do you think you are one of the most powerful men in the world today?
I don’t have any real power, but the people I represent do. The reason why politicians let me in the door, and the reason why people will take my call, is because I represent quite a large constituency of people. I do not control that constituency, but I represent them in a certain sense, even without them asking me to, in the minds of the people whose doors I knock upon.
That constituency is a very powerful one, because it is a constituency of people from 18 to 30, who are the floating vote. They have not yet made their mind up which way they’re going to vote. They’re the most open-minded, and that’s why politicians pay attention to what’s going on in contemporary culture and what a rock star might have to do with all of this: because of the people I represent.
Now, outside of that, I represent a lot of people who have no voice at all. In the world’s order of things, they’re the people who count the least. There are 6,500 people who are dying every day of Aids in Africa for no good reason. I now represent them. They haven’t asked me either. It’s cheeky, but I hope they’re glad I do, and in God’s order of things, they’re the most important.
So I think that imbues you with a power way beyond anything that you might have an influence on, being in a pop band. It’s a certain moral authority that’s way beyond your own life and capabilities.
The punch you throw is not your own. It has the force of a much bigger issue.
© Michka Assayas 2005
Extracted from Bono on Bono: Conversations with Michka Assayas to be published by Hodder on June 6 at £18.99. Copies can be ordered for £15.19 + £2.25 p&p from The Sunday Times Books Direct on 0870 165 8585. Michka Assayas, a French journalist, has known Bono for 25 years
Losing my mother at 14 changed everything
After my mother died, I think I tortured my brother and my father. There were three men living alone in a house. There were some awful times that we shared, about as low as you can get for three men. I remember, physically, my father trying to knock me out. I never returned fire, but it was hard.
Early on I had supreme confidence in myself and I was probably arrogant with it. I was very able intellectually in a lot of ways. I was popular. And then it cracked. Every teenager goes through an awkward phase, and that was just exacerbated, I suppose, by there not being anyone in the house.
The death of my mother really affected my confidence. I would go back to my house after school, but it wasn’t a home. She was gone. Our mother was gone, the beautiful Iris . . . I felt abandoned, afraid. I guess fear converts to anger pretty quickly. It’s still with me.
What else does it convert to?
I like to be around people. One of the things that I love to do is to go to lunch. I’ll gravitate towards the best restaurant in the city. I think I go because, when I was a kid, food had no love at all in it. I really resented it. I couldn’t taste it because she . . . my mother wasn’t there.
You mean you had to cook for yourself at a very early age?
I even went as far as robbing groceries from the shops and giving the money I was given by my father for groceries to my friends.
I hated mealtimes. It was comic tragedy. My brother, who used to work in the national airline, discovered he could buy airline food at a cheap rate. So he used to bring these packaged meals home and our fridge was full of it.
Then an amazing thing happened. Our high school was near the airport. They decided they were gonna do school lunches. So they bought them at the airport. I used to eat airline food at lunch. I would go home, eat the same f****** airline food for dinner. What happens then? You join a rock’n’roll band and spend the rest of your life eating airline food.
Your brother was seven years older. Did you get on with him?
I’m sure I was a pain in the arse to be around. My brother would come home from work, I’d be sitting there with my mates and be watching TV. I wouldn’t have done the washing up or something I said I would do. He would say something or he’d slam the door; we’d end up in a row. There was literally blood on our kitchen walls. I mean, we could really go at it.
I remember once we had a big fight and I threw a knife at him. I didn’t throw it to kill him; I just threw it to scare him. And it stuck into the door: boing . . . And he looked down at it, and I looked at it. And I realised: I didn’t mean to, but I could have killed him. And I think both of us wept, and both of us admitted that we were just angry at each other because we didn’t know how to grieve . . . Because my mother was never mentioned.
Never?
After she died, my father didn’t talk about her. So it never came up. So that’s why I don’t have any memories of my mother, which is strange.
She collapsed at the funeral of her own father. She never regained consciousness. Well, actually, we don’t know if she did or she didn’t. My father, when he was losing it or we’d been having a big row, would say: “I promised your mother on her deathbed that . . .” Then he never finished the sentence.
A very charming, very amusing, very likable man, but he was deeply cynical about the world and the characters in it. My father’s advice to me, without ever speaking it, was: “Don’t dream! To dream is to be disappointed.” And yet the thing he regretted the most in his life is that he hadn’t become a musician and a singer.
I got to make peace with him, but never really to become his friend. Nothing extraordinary here, just Irish macho stuff. We never really could talk.
We used to go down the pub on Sundays and we would drink together. We drank whiskey, Irish whiskey, of course. Occasionally he would ask a real question, meaning I had to give him a real answer. It was always about my belief in God: “There’s one thing I envy of you. I don’t envy anything else,” he said to me one time. “You do seem to have a relationship with God.”
And I said: “Didn’t you ever have one?” “No.”
“But you have been a Catholic for most of your life.”
“Yeah, lots of people are Catholic. It was a one-way conversation . . . You seem to hear something back from the silence!” “That’s true,” I said. “I do. I hear it in some sort of instinctive way, I feel a response to a prayer, or I feel led in a direction. Or if I’m studying the scriptures, they become alive in an odd way, and they make sense to the moment I’m in, they’re no longer a historical document.” He was mind-blown by this.
In his last days, when I used to come and visit him in the hospital, all he could do was whisper. He had Parkinson’s. I would lie beside him at night on a roll-up bed. Occasionally I would read to him . . . Shakespeare. He loved Shakespeare. If I read the Bible he would just scowl. It was like: “F*** off!” In fact, the last thing he said was “F*** off”. I was lying beside him in the middle of the night and I heard a shout. So I called the nurse. He was back to whispers, and we both put our ears to his mouth.
And the nurse was saying: “Bob, are you okay? So what are you saying? What’s that? What d’you need?”
“F*** off!” he said. “Would you ever f*** off and get me out of here? I wanna go home. This place is a prison cell.” And they were his last words.
Ali said to me that since his death I haven’t been myself, and that I have been a lot more aggressive and quicker to anger, and showing some of my father’s irascible side.
When he died (in August 2001), I went on a short vacation, which turned into a euphemism for “drinks outing”. I don’t like to abuse alcohol — anything you abuse will abuse you back. But it’s fair to say I went to Bali for a drink. With my friend Simon (Carmody, screenwriter), we just headed off. I wanted to blow it out a bit, get the monkey off my back. But when I returned, funnily enough, it was still there.
And so just on Easter (2002), I went up to the church in a little village where we live in France, and I just felt this was the moment that I had to let it go. In this little church, on Easter morning, I just got down on my knees and I let go of whatever anger I had against my father. And I thanked God for him being my father, and for the gifts that I have been given through him. And I let go of that. I wept, and I felt rid of it.
From flirting with evangelism to global rock god
Bono, real name Paul Hewson, was born in Ballymun, Dublin, in 1960. His mother was Protestant, his father Catholic: “That was a big deal in those days because they weren’t really allowed to be married.”
He was 14 when his mother died. At the time he was a pupil at Dublin’s Mount Temple school, where he not only met the three schoolmates who later formed U2 with him but also fell for another fellow pupil, Alison “Ali” Stewart. They married in 1982 and, with four children, have survived the pressures that destroy many rock star marriages. Ali gave up plans for a medical career but became a passionate campaigner, particularly for the children of Chernobyl.
U2 is now the world’s biggest-selling rock band, currently on a tour in the United States that is expected to reap $300m (£165m), well ahead of receipts predicted for the Rolling Stones. When U2 was created in the late 1970s it distinguished itself from other bands by its idealistic streak. Bono and Dave “the Edge” Evans became involved with Christian evangelists and in 1981 considered breaking up U2 as “frivolous”. However, they concluded that “ the music isn’t bollocks. This kind of fundamentalism is what’s bollocks”.
Live Aid in 1985 was the launchpad for both U2’s international success and Bono’s parallel career as an anti-poverty campaigner, starting with a six-month visit to Ethiopia with Ali. By the late 1990s he was lobbying world leaders on debt, Aids, and trade for Africa while also being hailed as the “world’s greatest rock star”.
He says: “I see the embarrassment, excruciating at times, of ‘rich rock star works on behalf of the poorest and most vulnerable’. Yet you can’t deny who you are ... and I can use this ridiculous thing called celebrity to the advantage of these issues.”
Why Bono?
I can’t remember when Ali started calling me Bono. I was 16, I’d say. Before Bono, I was Steinvic von Huyseman, and then just Huyseman, and then Houseman, then Bon Murray, Bono Vox of O’Connell Street, and then just Bono.
On Bob Dylan
I think he is a very tenacious character. I think underneath all the so-called eccentricity, which I think is just a mask, there’s a very true person. He’s a good father — I’ve seen him with his children — with a moral compass, and who can get lost at sea like everybody. But I think he’s very strong.
Mick and Keith: two true gentlemen
They’re both extremely old fashioned. Mick’s children have impeccable manners. I remember one of his little girls came up to me and said: “People think my daddy’s the devil and he lets them!” Keith is exactly the same. Keith would light a cigarette for you, talks respectfully in front of women, would never make a coarse comment about women, has a nobility in his human relationships, and was tougher than anyone. But no one (person) is tougher than drink or drugs. He has probably taken a few swipes from both. But he’s still standing and still funny and still throwing a few swipes back! He’s like a Hemingway character, The Old Man and the Sea, or something.
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
I bet Susan is hot like whoa. 
WildHoney
Blue Crack Distributor
susanp6 said:
susanp6 said:Got your email Wild! Will send pix! God help me when you all see me, i'm telling you!!!!
I miss read your post
bonoishot
Protecting my eyes ARRRR!!!
greeneyedgirl said:
awww i used to really miss my dog when i went away so know how you feelthursday
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
susanp6 said:Do you really mean that DG?????
bonoishot
Protecting my eyes ARRRR!!!
jst realised how long that article is, its like an essay, i should have split it up into a few posts 
greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
BIH
Will we get to see you too then jemma?
I've not posted my pic for like months cos i just don't like the way i look but oh well! Countdown is on!!!!
Are you going to read the article now Wild?
Silly you not reading my post properly&yes of course i love chicken!! You shouold know that considering that i always say chicken curries are my fav takeaway, altho bef is my top choice for a roast! But hey - It's so kind of youo&hubby to make me stuff!
I've not posted my pic for like months cos i just don't like the way i look but oh well! Countdown is on!!!!
Are you going to read the article now Wild?
Silly you not reading my post properly&yes of course i love chicken!! You shouold know that considering that i always say chicken curries are my fav takeaway, altho bef is my top choice for a roast! But hey - It's so kind of youo&hubby to make me stuff!
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
Susan....you have another pic of yourself that you posted? Do you still have it?
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
Oh. I'm an idiot. 
Thursday!
Thursday!
greeneyedgirl
ONE love, blood, life
I have to go girls, so tired from the driving today.
See you all tomorrow, hopefully.
Wild and Susan, if I miss you tomorrow I will...... then I will miss you till I get back on the 10th.
try to be good while I'm gone
See you all tomorrow, hopefully.
Wild and Susan, if I miss you tomorrow I will...... then I will miss you till I get back on the 10th.
try to be good while I'm gone
bonoishot
Protecting my eyes ARRRR!!!
greeneyedgirl said:BIH
your all welcome
i can't wait for book now
Mucca
Rock n' Roll Doggie FOB
I'm off to have dinner then it's back to lovely school stuff 
Night girls!
Sweet dreams
Thursday!!
Bye GG!
Night girls!
Sweet dreams
Thursday!!
Bye GG!
WildHoney
Blue Crack Distributor
Just read the article can't wait for the book
NI's cooking... His roast potaotoes are
Hope we can meet Jemma in London.....
NI's cooking... His roast potaotoes are
Hope we can meet Jemma in London.....
Last edited:
daygloeyes2
Blue Crack Addict
Bye Mucca and GG!
WildHoney
Blue Crack Distributor
Bye GG
We'll mss you
We'll mss you
- Status
