Kevin Clooney

“I’m not going to lie to you, it’s really not f***ing easy. It’s hard. It’s really hard.”

Bless her. That’s what an emotional Duffy said live on television last night as she received her third Brit award of the evening for her album Rockferries.

I love it when women swear, me. I reckon it’s well sexy. I sometimes ask my Donna to talk dirty to me when we’re in bed, you know, doing it.

I wasn’t working at the Brits ceremony, I’m busy in Manchester at the moment doing a boring trade show. I’d rather be in bed with my Donna, though – or Duffy, especially if she keeps swearing like that.

I did a couple of show with her last year and I must admit she does have a great voice – just like her dad, Tom Jones.

He swears, too. All Welsh people do. It’s from when they used to have to work down the pits and shout at each other all day long. Or something.

I was at the Grammies in Los Angeles on Monday night. I was stage-side working for the monitor mix fellow, Ivan. Did you see Chris Martin wave at me when he accepted the award?

It was brilliant to see the British doing so well again – showing the boring American artists how to do it. We did pretty well last year, too, what with the Amy Winehouse success and everything.

Can’t say I really like Coldplay but I was pleased they won song of the year for Vida La Viva as me and my Donna reckon it’s not half a bad little tune, what with the marching band in there and everything. I like songs with marching band in them, adds a sort of je ne say trois, if you know what I mean.

The thing about Coldplay that really annoys me – apart form Chris Martin’s affected singing style, of course - is their idiot guitarist Jonny Buckland who always looks like he’s in terrible pain when he’s playing a solo.

He probably saw some black blues musician do it and though it looked cool. Even so, if the electric guitar was as hard to play as he makes it look, no one would ever take it up in the first place.

Nice to see Kate Winslet nominated for an Oscar and eleven Baftas and an Olymypic gold medal and what have you for her latest movie The Readers.

I haven’t seen it but I’ve heard it’s supposed to be okay - it’s about the Nazis or something. She’s always in these kinds of films is our Kate, a bit like Woody Allen who is always in films about Nazis and Jews and that.

I was in a restaurant in Newark a few years ago when Kate came in with her husband at the time, Jim Treacleton or something I think his name was. She seemed pleasant enough, but he had a face like a smacked arse. I reckon they had been arguing or something; you can see why she dumped him for rich movie director Sam Mendes, who I think is not exactly a Jew, but a bit Jew-ish.

Treacleton was drinking his white wine with a straw as I recall and, to me, he looked a bit gay.

I worked for singer Will Young last year and he was doing the same thing backstage after the show: drinking with a straw. (Don’t quote me on this, but I think it was pink Champagne - though it could just as easily have been fizzy Ribena.)

He looked a bit gay, too.

Hope you all enjoyed your hols.

Me an my Donna had a great time in sunny St Barth. We saw Nicole Kidman on the beach with some funny fat bloke just before we left for home. ‘She’s put on some weight, hasn’t she?’ Donna asked me.

‘Who cares?’ I replied. That got me into trouble for an afternoon. I had to make it up to her by buying her a new ring. She does like rings, my Donna - a bit like Michael Barrymore.

I do have to report that Kidman did look a little larger than usual - maybe she’s put the extra pounds on for a film role - but it didn’t stop her looking absolutely gorgeous.

I wandered past her on the way to buy an ice-cream and said ‘hello’ or ‘you’re looking fat’ or something to get her attention. She smiled at me and said something like ‘Eh?’ or something charming and Australian along those lines. Then - she winked at me! Yep, winked. Ah, I’ve still got it.

Ben Affleck was there, too, we saw him alone in a bar getting rat-arsed, but he doesn’t count.

I’m having some time off over Christmas. Me and my Donna are off to St. Barth in the Caribbean for two weeks. St. Barth is where the likes of Beyonce and Johnny Depp spend their Christmases, apparently.

I quite like Beyonce; she’s got a great body - especially in the upstairs department - and isn’t half a bad singer, too . . . for a girl.

I have to be careful what I say here because my Donna has fallen out with me over the things I keep writing about how I fancy some of these sexy pop stars and that. I told her I can’t help it; it’s a biological imperative. (I read that in a magazine.) I don’t think she’s very happy with me. She’s suggested that we have one of those open relationships. That wouldn’t work for me, I told her. I’m treating her to this holiday to try to make amends and patch our relationship up. She’ll be happy with a Caribbean holiday - you know what women are like.

I don’t like Johnny Depp; he’s got a face like a neutered chihuahua licking p*ss off a nettle.

Whew! That was a busy few days. First the Futureheads gigs, and then I got called last minute to do some work for ITV at one of the X Factor shows.

The Futureheads concerts were hard work - not because of the equipment or anything, but because of the band. I’ve already told you about the drummer but this time the guitarist was being an idiot, too. First off, he looks stupid: his trousers are too tight, same for all guitarists. (This doesn’t apply to jazz, but then again, what does?) Second, he tried to get off with my Donna!

Backstage after the soundcheck, he propositioned her to come back to the hotel with him and . . . well I’m not sure - try on some trousers together, probably. She told me, and I had to have a serious man-to-man word with him. But then he only went and offered me money for her, didn’t he! You know, like that film The Indecent Proposition. I nearly punched him but I would have been thrown off the crew. I wouldn’t have hit him, anyway; the Roadie Code forbids us hitting the musicians, though it’s hard not too at times.

On a lighter note, the X Factor gig was a hoot. Just standidng around backstage, mostly. I had to push Simon Cowell round for an hour in his wheelchair and then I got to spend a few minutes chatting to Dannii Minogue in her dressing room.

She still loves me. She told me she’s splitting up with her boyfriend at Christmas - you heard it here first. Probably so she can get with me, I reckon.

Don’t tell my Donna I said any of that.

Well I’m busy tomorrow and Wednesday up in Glasgow with the Futureheads who have some shows booked.

Then it’s down to Cardiff on Friday before a lovely weekend off with my Donna at home. She’s threatened to take me out to the karaoke at the Villager pub on Saturday. I can’t stand karaoke but she loves it – loves to see me making a fool of myself singing my Burt Bacharach songs more like.

The Futureheads are okay, it’s quite a good crew. The band are not bad, I suppose. The drummer’s crap - too many cymbals. the number of cymbals a drummer has in his kit is inversely proportional to his talent as a drummer. (Roadies know these kinds of things.) I quite liked that single they had, that cover of Dogs of War, the old Kate Bush song.

I wish Bush was still going, I wouldn’t mind being in her backstage crew, if you know what I mean.

As you can probably tell, I’m new to this blogging lark. But I’m really enjoying it!

I’ve been searching Google for info that might help me progress, help me make a little money even.

Found this: The Inner Circle. Looks good.

I reckon I might give it a go. The Inner Circle was the name of my first band when I was still at school. We used to play Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe covers. Good omen, that.

Filthy Rik is in the US at the moment and he has been telling me about some stuff he’s been hearing over there.

He reckons Irish rockers U2 will not be using any of the material they recorded with Rick Rubin for their much-awaited new record No Lion On The Horizon, instead opting for the guidance of long-term collaborator and usual producer Brian Eno.

Rik and I have both worked with U2 a few times and neither of us is surprised to hear that they have been messing people about. They’re always doing it, in the studio and especially on the road.

Larry Mullen - the drummer - is the worst. He spends ages soundchecking his kit then keeps complaining that he can’t hear his drums properly in the monitors. I reckon he’s deaf. Most drummers are. And thick.

My Donna has just been showing me a photograph in one of her magazines of Spencer Elden, the baby pictured on Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’ album cover. He is now 17 and has has perfectly re-created the iconic shot - with shorts on.

Weird, eh? Makes me feel really old, that.

I worked with Nirvana in the UK several times before Kurt Cobain ended his own life.

They were a really nice bunch of lads - a bit camp at times but easy to get along with. They used to have a dancer called Antony who was always hanging around them, idiot-dancing on stage with the band; he was always trying to bum cigarettes off me and the other roadies. How Nirvana ever tolerated him, I’ll never know. We on the crew couldn’t stand him. Still, never mind, eh?