Kevin Clooney

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.

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.

Filthy Rik (short for Erik - he’s from Sweden, though I would never hold this against him) was playing me some tracks from the new Guns and Roses album Chinese Democracy yesterday. It was okay - not as bad as I expected it would be. And I did expect it to be bad.

It was better than their previous albums simply because it took so long to produce, effectively reducing their overall output considerably. This is a good thing. At least they sound like they were trying to be a bit less heavy metal on this one. While most tracks on it feature the group’s trademark guitar bombast, others include piano, orchestrations and flamenco influences.

Filthy Rik and I were both on tour in North America with Guns and Roses years and years ago, when I was still at the stinking bottom of the roadie pile, learning my trade, as it were. Those days were a good experience and I learned a lot of things about the excesses of crap rock bands and about life in general.

I was surprised to learn one thing, though; I wandered into Slash’s dressing room one night to find him attaching big, red rubber lips to his face. That’s right, Slash wears false lips. always has done, apparently. They help him hold his cigarettes in place while he’s playing those interminably long tuneless solos.

Yep, rock fans, you heard it here first: Slash has false lips.

I’m just reading here on Coldplay’s website that miserable singer Chris Martin thinks that Obama winning the US presidential election was ‘a great great great great great day - everything’s alright with the world again, especially now that our tour is going really really really really really well in America.’

You’d think Martin would have been rooting for the republicans, wouldn’t you - what with him being a rich Conservative landowner and everything. He once told me he was going to vote for David Cameron at the next general election in the UK.

And The Strokes bassist Nikolai Fraiture apparently told his wife, Regina Spektor, that ‘It feels like finally being freed after having spent many years in prison.’ Well I reckon her dad, Phil Spektor, will be able to tell them what that feels like soon enough.

My Donna likes his hair. I sometimes think she’s pulling my plonker, I really do.

My Donna has just shown me an article in one of her girly magazines about Madonna taking time out and resting in New York with her best friend Gwyneth Paltrow; apparently, the stress of the past month is taking its toll on the queen of pop what with her hectic touring schedule and her divorce from Guy Ritchie and everything.

I’ve met Gwyneth Paltrow a few times when I’ve been working for miserable guitar band Coldplay. The band’s frontman and Paltrow’s paramour Chris Martin is a nice enough chap but his American wife always seemed a bit ignorant and rude to me. Could be because I’m just a lowly roadie and not a glamorous singer in an internationally successful rock band - who knows?

Once, my Donna was chatting to Paltrow backstage, showing her the new nails she’d just had done and Gwyneth didn’t show even the slightest interest; my Donna was really offended. ‘She only wanted to talk about Madonna,’ she told me afterwards, ‘She just wasn’t bothered about my nails - just kept going on and on about her famous friend.’

I took my Donna out for a slap-up curry in my favourite Indian restaurant in Stepney after the show. That cheered her up no end.

Snake, one of my roadie mates, who keeps snakes – he’s mad about them - was taking the Michael out of me the other day because of Ozzy, my little pussycat. He reckons blokes in the music business who like cats lean towards the lavender. I soon put him straight on that one.

In case you’re wondering, Ozzy my blue Persian is named after Ozzy Osbourne. Natch. Here’s a picture of my Donna with Ozzy taken about twelve years ago when he was a kitten.

Aren’t  a lucky roadie? Two kittens!

I’ve worked with the Oz loads of times, I did a 5-month North American tour with him a few years ago and I can tell you he’s a thoroughly nice bloke. He never knew what day it was, though, and you could never tell what he was saying.

A bit weird when it comes to lunchtime, as well: the caterers on the tour had to do him his bat heads. He eats loads of the horrible little things. On that tour, if I remember correctly, there were gallons of Guinness and beer backstage for the crew but Ozzy only drank brandy and Ribena. Guinness sometimes, but brandy and Ribena mostly. Brandy and Ribena and cheese and onion sandwiches.

And bat heads.

I enjoyed Wednesday night working for the Ting Tings at the Sheperds Bush Empire in London.

As usual they put on a really good show. The weird drummer bloke was as grumpy as he always is but the audience of spotty youths and Katie White wannabe teenage girls seemed to really enjoy themselves.

Would you believe it . . . backstage, who should I bump into but miserable Coldplay frontman Chris Martin who was trying to sneak out of Katie’s dressing room dressed as one of the catering staff. ‘Oi, Martin! What you doing in there, you dirty old man?’ I yelled at him but he pretended not to hear me.

I reckon he’s got something going on with the gorgeous Katie, I do. Wait till I tell my Donna! She’s well pally with Gwyneth Paltrow is my Donna and not very good at keeping secrets. And I should know: she can’t help telling Filthy Rik and all my other roadie mates about my personal problems - especially when I’ve had too much Guinness and can’t, you know, perform. (My manly duties in the bedroom.) Women.

My best mate and fellow professional roadie Filthy Rik has just been telling me about his upcoming gigs with the Kaiser Chiefs in the UK in October.

I’m really envious because I like the band, and having worked with them before, I know they pay really well - better than bloody Coldplay, anyway, who are crap.

I like the Kaisers’ new single Never Miss The Beat which reminds me of Bill Nelson and Be-Bop Deluxe for some reason. I reckon they’d sell a lot more records though if the singer stopped dressing up as a schoolboy. Weird he is, that one. He’s from Yorkshire so that explains a lot.

Filthy Rik often imbibes too much when he’s doing indie band gigs - he gets too excited, bless him - so I’m hoping he’ll get sacked and I can step in and deputise.

Deputy Kev. I like the sound of that.

One of my roadie mates was chatting to Graham Coxon recently and found out that the bespectacled Blur guitarist is to feature on the Pete Doherty solo album that has been in the works for over a year now.

‘I really like his songs,’ Coxon apparently said, ‘but he does smell. In fact, he really stinks.’ Told you!

I like Graham Coxon, he’s quite a good mate. I helped him choose his new glasses in Carnaby Street last year. I’ve worked with Blur a few times and I think they’re okay. That Damon Allbran is a bit stuck up, though.

Coxon’s solo single was crap. Sounded like the Skids to me. The Skids on methadone.

The Skids were amazing, one of my fave all time bands and absolutely top blokes, too. Stuart Adamson RIP. Sadly missed guitar genius.