Why it is Never a Good Idea to go to Bono's House Drunk at 1:00 AM


My Misadventures in Ireland: Why it is Never a Good Idea to go to Bono's House Drunk at 1:00 am

by Brenda Clemons, U2 Station Staff Writer

While in Ireland I met Bridget. Bridget grew up in East Berlin during the cold war. She became a U2 fan when her older sister brought home a copy of "The Joshua Tree" which had been smuggled in from West Berlin. To Bridget, U2 were pure magic (never having been exposed to spirituality or religion; she could not understand any other concept but magic.) Now that the cold war was over and the Berlin wall had crumbled, Bridget was free to travel as she pleased. She came to Ireland to meet the people whose music was so special to her.

It was Bridget's last night in Ireland and we had spent the night drinking Guinness after Guinness after Guinness. I don't know how many of you have ever been drunk on Guinness--but let me tell you that every idea starts to sound like a good idea (maybe this is how the Pop lemon came about!). It was after 1:00 a.m. and the pubs were all closing. We had been drinking for hours when Bridget decided that we were going to Bono's house. "okay!", I said. We put our drunken heads together and decided that we had enough money between the two of us to take a cab to Bono's house and then take the DART back to Dublin at 6:00 a.m. the next morning.

Bono doesn't actually live in Dublin. He lives south of Dublin in a little town nestled between Dalkey and Bray. Everyone knows where Bono lives, I mean just everyone!. While in Dalkey someone actually gave me directions to somewhere by using Bono's house as a starting point. "Okay, say your standing at Bono's front gate. You walk down the road a few feet and take a right. Then a left a ways down the road...", said the man. The DART train travels right by his house. I found this out while traveling to Bray. Suddenly, a few people on the train jumped up to see if they could see anyone in Bono's back yard. This is how I found out where Bono lives. The point is that everyone knows where Bono lives; everyone except for the cab driver that picked us up at 1:00 in the morning.

He was an elderly man with a green cap and a pipe. He could have been the poster boy for Irish tourism. He was a sweet old man with an accent so thick you could barely understand him (or maybe it was the Guinness). He referred to me and Bridget as "lassies" and said how he could not let, "two lassies like yourselves walk around Dublin alone this late at nite." He had no idea who Bono was or where he lived. I told him to just drop us off at the DART station near Bono's house. Our cab driver got lost. I know that he was truly lost when he turned off his meter. When we finally found the DART station, Bridget and I quickly left the cab. As we were walking away, I glanced back to see the cab driver staring at us with a confused expression on his face.

Bono's house was just a short walk from the DART station. Bridget decided that it would be a good idea to climb the high brick wall which surrounds his property. I'm not sure if it was the Guinness or a moment of good common sense, but I would have no part in climbing the wall. After several tries, Bridget successfully reached the top. I asked her what she saw. She replied that there were a large amount of red lights criss-crossing the wall, "A security system!", I yelled, "Get down quick.". Bridget made her way down and we ran across the street and hid in the bushes. Our cab drove by.

While we were hiding in the bushes a young man came along. He immediately set upon the task of scaling Bono's brick wall, He was obviously as drunk as we were and was having great difficulty getting up the wall. I called to him and warned him of the security system. He waved me away and continued upon his task. He reached the top and stood upon the wall in victory. He staggered and his body rocked back and fourth before he slipped and fell off the wall and into Bono's yard.

A few seconds later the great gates opened and a security guard came out dragging the young man with him. The young man staggered and slurred his speech, " But, des Bone hve any ber I's could heve?". The guard replied, "No, Bono doesn't have any beer you can have". The guard sent the drunk man on his way. He then called to us, "You, there behind the bushes, I know you are there. You can come out now." We started across the street but had to stop and wait as our cab driver went by.

The guard turned out to be very nice. His tough exterior melted away as Bridget told her story. As we were standing there talking to the guard, three car loads of people rolled past us and through the gate. The three cars contained all women and just one man--Bono. (At least, Bridget said it was Bono. I had to take her word for it because I was still too drunk to see clearly). The guard excused himself before disappearing behind the gates.

Bridget and I sat quietly. The Guinness was starting to wear off and I was beginning to think that this was not such a great idea. To amuse ourselves we talked about U2. Our cab driver went by for the third time. I wondered if he was cursing us. We heard "Miss Sarajevo" coming from the other side of the wall. Bridget found this amusing, "Ha!" she said, "This is funny. He is Bono and he is listening to U2 music. You know, I have heard that he can not play guitar so well."

The guard reappears to tell us that Bono and his friends are taking a late night swim in the pool. (I wonder if Ali knew about this). The guard advises us to go home. We explain that our plan is to wait for the DART to start running in a few hours. The guard appears to be surprised, then he informs us that the train does not start running until 10:00 on Sunday. After some thought, the guard gives us directions to Edge's house and advises us to go there. "Edge does not have a fence around his property", the guard says with a wink. Off we went to Edge's house, and that is a story in itself which I will save for another time.

It was past 10:00 am when we made it back to Bono's house. My armpits were stinking, my breath was foul, my head was pounding, and I had a severe case of bedhead. All I wanted was to get back to my hotel room and the comfy bed that was waiting for me there. There was a crowd of fans outside of Bono's house. It must be the Sunday thing to do--hang outside of Bono's house in hopes of a picture or an autograph. A couple pulled up in a small car. I had to stop my walking to amuse myself by staring at the man's pants. He wore biking pants with red and white checks on them. He looked like a walking checker board. He did not wear any underwear or cup--he was letting it all hang out. He parked in the middle of the road, effectively blocking traffic. A security guard came out to make him move his car. The man seemed egotistical and showed the guard a framed version of a U2 album. The guard made the man move his car to the side of the road. He opened up his car downs and blasted U2 music. The crowd went wild. I saw the man smirk before getting into his car and rolling up the windows and shutting the doors so that no one else could enjoy the music.

I started to continue on my way to the DART station when I was stopped by the sound of a gate opening behind me. I turned to see Bono sitting in the driver's seat of his little red sports car. He saw me and Bridget and I swear I saw him mouth, "Oh f__k! They are still here." He looked like he was thinking about rolling down his window and saying something to us. I was so embarassed that I just wanted to jump back into the bushes and hide. There were too many people there for me to make a quick getaway. I was trapped so I just waved meekly. Bono waved back. Bono was suddenly startled by a banging on his car door. It was the man in the biker pants. He was waving his framed CD in the air with one hand while trying to open Bono's car door with the other. Bono put his foot on the gas and rode off down the road. The man with the CD was left running after him.

I sighed and went on my way to the DART train. My hotel bed never felt so comfy as it did that day. This is why it is never a good idea to go to Bono's house, drunk at 1:00 am.


Is this truth or fiction??

Hi Brenda, loved the story about Bonzo's house. It rings true, albeit with a little embellishment. I've had the honour of meeting the Great Man on a number of occasions and we have one or two mutual friends. He really is a very nice bloke with a great sense of humour.
Sounds like his security guard has one as well, as the Edge no longer lives nearby. The house he probably directed you to (U2) was near where movie director Neil Jordan lives. He, too, is a nice man, but probably wouldn't welcome you at 2am. I'm writing this from my homestead on the Mean Streets of Dalkey. I'll be heading down to Finnegan's for a pint shortly, so if I see Bonobo, and he's not too preoccupied, I'll direct him to your (extremely amusing) story.

Leave a comment

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Brenda published on July 8, 2007 2:36 PM.

A Powerful Sound for Social Justice: Music From U2 Gives Contemporary Edge to Episcopal Service was the previous entry in this blog.

U2 Fans Raise Over $34,000 in Honor of Bono's Birthday is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Monthly Archives


OpenID accepted here Learn more about OpenID