***
***
The phone rings. Shane, sprawled on the bed, cruelly woken up by the merciless ringing, fumbles for the receiver, groggily.
Shane: Huh?
Dickon: Good morning, Mr. MacGowan. Your butler speaking. It’s time to update your Yule blog.
Shane [desperate tired moan]: Later...
Dickon: No, no, it’s already late. But don’t worry, it will be easy. Just a couple of very simple questions.
Shane: Uhh...
Dickon: So what have the last days brought you? What interesting experiences of life on the tour will you share with your readers?
Shane: They keep waking me up...
Dickon: Mr. MacGowan, I know I always wake you up. But if I didn’t do it, I would never extract any material from you. It’s my butler’s duty.
Shane: The bastards... they woke me up too. The security gorillas.
Dickon: What? When?
Shane: Tuesday... I think it was on Tuesday, right, the days kinda blend and merge and pass... one endless fucking stream, you know what I mean. [another silent moan]
Dickon: On Tuesday? On Tuesday you were playing at the Brixton Academy in London.
Shane: Yeah. And they woke me up, the old fuckers. Broke me hotel room door. Bang, crash, broke it down, I nearly got a heart-attack, you know. And the thugs, suddenly they are standing all over me, shouting into my face that I should be onstage in minutes, well, maybe not really shouting, but me head was aching, you know, heavy as lead, each word was like a roaring shout, I wanted to block me ears with me hands. And they prattle on, „Shane, what’s the matter? Blah, blah... People are worried about you! Blah blah...“ Bullshit. Total bullshit. They wouldn’t give a fuck, you know? What do they care, definitely not about me, maybe about their bloody salary if the gig is a disaster...
Dickon [interrupting him]: What happened, Mr. MacGowan? Why did you oversleep?
Shane: Well, I’m not much of a day person, you know what I mean. Been up all night, chatting with pals, playing buffoon to entertain the company, pleasing the arselickers, long night it was, and then I overslept somehow. Had a weird dream, I was...
Dickon [interrupting again]: So you nearly missed the gig. Are you grateful to the security people for saving the day?
Shane: Yeah, I am. I am. Coz now I can bitch about my incapable manager, who should have woken me up. Krrssshhh.
Dickon: Alright, thank you, and let’s move to your impressions of the gig itself.
Shane: They rudely dragged me from me bed! Who could enjoy a gig after that?
Dickon: Mr. MacGowan, we have already talked about the waking-up process. No more details needed. How do you feel about your performance that night?
Shane: I was brilliant! As always.
Dickon: And the band?
Shane: Superb! As always. Well, not really always... umm.
Dickon: And what about the Brixton Academy audience?
Shane: Unruly bastards. Bloody partisans, krrrsshh. From every possible species – asses, bitches, worms...
Dickon: Classy, Mr. MacGowan, classy indeed.
Shane: So stop with the idiotic questions! You wake me up, and then pelt me with this bullshit I’ve been asked thousand times over and...
Dickon [undisturbed]: You changed the setlist and put in stuff you haven’t played for twenty years...
Shane: Yeah, every fucking time somebody decides to change the set without even asking me, not giving a flying fuck if I like it or not. And they dare to brag about democracy...
Dickon: This time you played Poor Paddy and The Auld Triangle.
Shane: Uhu. So what?
Dickon: What do you think about your performance of these old classics?
Shane: Fuck it, Dickon, stop! You asked me the same thing a minute ago! I’ve had enough. [resolute click of the phone being hung up]
***
The Guardian proudly presents Shane’s "Yule blog", dictated by the brilliant songwriter himself and recorded by Mr. Dickon Edwards.
December 21 instalment:
Last Tuesday I was woken by hotel security breaking down the door. It was minutes before I was due onstage with The Pogues at Brixton Academy, and people were understandably concerned that I hadn't yet emerged. It's fair to say I'm not much of a day person; I'd been up all night talking with friends, holding court, then overslept somewhat. So I'm grateful to the human alarm clocks around me for saving the day.
Despite being rudely dragged from my bed, I played a brilliant gig, the band were superb, the audience were unruly and partisan and from every possible species. Every now and then someone decides to change the set and we put in stuff we haven't played for 20 years; this time it was Poor Paddy and The Auld Triangle.
photo © unknown