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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.