Musical Thoughts: Bono’s Diary
This week Joe West imagines what Bono’s diary might read like, then shares it with us…
There was an email doing the rounds the other day which claimed to contain extracts from a diary written by U2’s Bono. I don’t know if the source is at all reliable, but here is a portion reprinted to allow those who missed it to make a judgement on their own.
8.00 AM: Woke up. Had a think about Africa. Toto are so amazing. That line about Kilimanjaro rising like Olympus above the Serengeti is the boldest achievement in pop music. Not only does it last longer than you expect, like sex or the washing up, but it also does the clever thing of comparing one mountain to another, different mountain. This tricks you into thinking that the writers David Paich and Jeff Porcaro don’t really understand the point of a simile.
8.05 AM: Went into The Edge’s room and put my bum right up close to his face. Adam Clayton and the other one were awake in their bunks and giggling into their hands. I thought The Edge might sit up into my bum and then be embarrassed, but he pretended to be asleep and after an hour I got a sore back so I left.
9.20 AM: After breakfast had a practice on my unicycle for a bit. The Edge tells me that I look stupid riding it, but I just say “Fuck off and buy another hat”. This usually makes him have a cry, but at least he leaves me alone for five minutes. Not a lot of people realise that The Edge has to wear hats because he has a second face on top of his head.
10.00 AM: Made prank call to Ed Sheeran. Hilarious.
11.30 AM: Nelson Mandela called to see if I could come to his house for tea. He always pronounces my name ‘Bono’ like ‘oh no’ not ‘Bono’ like ‘mono’, but I let him off because he went to prison and knows people.
12.00 PM: Went into the shops at whichever town I live near to buy sunglasses. Everyone knows how much I like them. Sometimes I don’t know whether I like them more than doing philanthropy. But if all I’m remembered for after I die is liking sunglasses and supporting causes then I’ll be content, as I roam the spirit world trying to make Derek Acorah call Yvette Fielding an icy bitch.
3:30 PM: Visited Sting’s flat to have a go on his beard. He was looking out of his window at the street below and said he was watching for ‘unsavoury clarts’. I looked at Trudy, but she just rolled her eyes and went back to her plastering.
4.05 PM: Called Sheeran again. Told him I found him a maudlin bore.
5.00 PM: Got a helicopter over to Nelson’s for tea. Adam Clayton and the other one were invited, but The Edge was in a strop so stayed at home to talk to his second face. Mrs Mandela makes the best smoothies, but I wouldn’t call it a whole meal. At my emergency packet of Skips because I was still hungry. I like the way they melt, but then it reminds me about the polar ice caps and I get sad, which slightly spoils their deliciousness.
9.30 PM: Home in time to watch QI. The best bit is that after it’s over I pay the actual Stephen Fry to carry me up to bed. Said goodnight to The Edge and he apologised for his behaviour. He couldn’t see my tears behind my new shades, but the fact that we used the most contrite of our secret handshakes said it all.
10.05 AM: One last attempt at razzing Sheeran, but his phone was off. Emailed him a picture of a monkey’s dick instead. Good way to end the day.
