Kevin Clooney

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.

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.

I’m still waiting for the Kinks reunion that Ray Davies talked about last year. Filthy Rik reckons he’s heard on the roadie grapevine that frontman Ray Davies has been telling people not to get their hopes up.

I love the Kinks, me. They wouldn’t have to just play all the old stuff if they did get back together for a tour - something that Rik reckons is the reason they don’t do many gigs, the fact that they hate playing their old hits and hate hearing fans request them - they could inflict some of their new songs on us, I suppose, if thet really had to.

What is it with songwriters like Ray Davies - how come after years of writing brilliant classics like Waterloo Sunset, You Really got Me and Days, he just can’t produce the goods any more? You think he’d know how to do it by now.

My Donna reckons it’s because he’s too rich and just can’t be bothered. She should know: she’s a woman, and women know everything.

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.

It didn’t take Madge long after booting tubby husband Guy Richie out until she found a new man, did it.

Famous US baseball star Alex Rodriguez has apparently dumped his wife Cynthia - who’s busy crying on pal Lennie Kravits’s shoulder - to be with Madonna. They share the same interest in weird mystical Jewish faith Kabbalah, my Donna told me.

Americans are just strange. My Donna and me are secular humanists, English ones at that - it says so on our passports.

If I see Guy in the pub, I’ll challenge him to a game of darts and buy him a pint of Guinness, help him drown his sorrows. I reckon us English blokes ought to stick together, show you American girls what real men are like.

So Madonna and Guy Richie are divorcing. About bloody time!

It’s obvious a classy bird like that would never be happy with some southern poncy wide-boy like Richie. He’s crap. Girls like her prefer a bit of northern rough like yours truly.

I’ve been around Maddy’s crew at various gigs a few times and there have always been rumours that she was going to dump him. I tell you, if I didn’t have my Donna, I’d be round Madonna’s gaff like a rabbit up a drainpipe. Classy bird. Pure class.

She’s funny, too - I like a funny bird, me. Apparently, on one night of her world tour recently, she played some screeching notes on her guitar - I don’t think women should play guitars, mind you; it just doesn’t look right. Madonna’s ok with an axe, I suppose, so I’ll let that one go - and said to the audience: ‘This is the sound of Sarah Palin thinking.’ Pure class.

One of my showbiz sources (Donna) tells me that Paris Hilton is in the UK at the moment to promote her new TV show. Apparently, ITV2 has signed Hilton up to appear in a new UK-produced show in which she will attempt to find a British best friend.

I’d be her friend, no worries. Donna reckons she has read somewhere that Paris loves cats - well she could bring her pussy to come and play with mine; I’ve got a lovely blue Persian at home called Ozzy and he really misses me when I’m away working.

I’m sure my Ozzy would love to play with Paris’s little pussy.

Actually, I’d quite fancy Paris Hilton if she wasn’t so, well . . . stupid.

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.

Hi, pop pickers! I bumped into Amy Winehouse the other day, nice girl, looked a bit rough as usual, though – probably had a ‘busy’ night. She’s got some dates coming up and was asking me if I was going to be on the crew. ‘You’re the best,’ she told me. I didn’t see any reason to argue with her.

Her mobile rang and she yelled into it, ‘No! Go away, clown!’
I asked her if she was being hounded by the press again but she told me no; said it was that ‘smelly Pete Doherty tw*t.’

Apparently he really fancies her and keeps ringing her up for a date. (That’s Pete on the left). What a loser.

The Libertines were a bloody good band though. I heard on the grapevine that a reunion is on the cards. You heard it here first! I’ll keep you posted on that one.

Anyway, cheerio for now.