Bono & The Cross Keys

Bono & The Cross Keys

Mrs DJ had retired to bed early having just downed yet another G&T. I believe I have read that six is about your limit and so the seventh must have been the one that took her over the edge. She had endured a particularly stressful day with a mixture of high winds affecting her marine biology business in The Bahamas and one of the twins refusing to accept the concept of school. I took this opportunity of being delivered some ‘me’ time to clean the family silver. 5 minutes later, Great Aunts butter knife looking radiant, I thought I’d read a little and tootled through to the snug to work my way through various magazines ranging from the great Upton Tonic to Harpers Bazaar.

It was during that awfully warm spell a couple of weeks ago where the nights were so sticky that you might as well just be fine with it and throw a bucket of water over yourself before you went to bed. The clock has spilled past midnight and I decided a little night air taken with a spin around the block with the Loyal Hound would be a splendid way of cooling down.

As I fell upon Main Street, traffic was non existent and so we walked up the middle of the road, heat still rising from the sun soaked asphalt. As we rounded the curve I noticed the lights in the Cross Keys were still on and the fine prospect of a late night drink with the enigmatic landlord began to take hold. Arriving at the front window and saw Steve in his customary position with only one man sat at the bar. It was Bono, Guinness in hand and in full flow. Now I know you’re wondering how I so easily clocked sat in our very own Cross Keys was the famous Irish rock star. Well there were a few clues. Firstly the Guinness. A dead give away. Secondly Steve was playing U2 on the pub stereo rather loudly. Thirdly the man looked like Bono. Fourthly there was a sign sellotaped to the window pane which read ‘no entrance, Bono’s here.’

I thought long and hard about whether to barge into Steve’s private conclave with the great man and so it was with a little trepidation that 30 seconds later I walked into the bar. Steve didn’t bat an eyelid and simply said ‘usual?’ whilst Bono turned to eye the hound and I up.

‘Hey man, great to see you!’ he said with great enthusiasm as he bounded off the barstool to first make a huge fuss of the Loyal Hound and then give me a hug. Bono is quite a small fella in real life and so his embrace found him fondling my nether regions which was unusual and yet strangely endearing.

‘So what brings you to Upton?’ I asked whilst settling down on a barstool myself. Bono climbed up the little ladder Steve has attached to his barstool for him and replied, ‘a man.’

My face lit up a little too brightly at this revelation and Steve seeing the opportunity for a cheeky question from me needing to be averted jumped in,

‘A learned man DJ,’ Steve said. ‘You see Bono has heard that in the Village lives a famous doctor who can help him uncover the mysteries local history. He’s uncovered various things on his estates that he wants advice on.’

‘I know just the man!’ I declared only for that very same Dr Jones to arrive at the back door with Larry Mullen Jr. both were wearing tight black leather trousers and carrying drum sticks.

Dr Jones slapped me in the back heartily causing my teeth to rattle. He then launched into a quick rendition of ‘Where the Streets Have No Name’ with Bono taking harmony, Larry banging his sticks on the bar, Steve playing air guitar and the Loyal Hound howling like a mad thing.

By 5am I was home. Had it all been a dream I wondered as I fell into bed exhausted besides a peaceful looking Mrs DJ. Bono and Larry had been great company and I’d managed to Blagg my way on to Jonesy’s trip to the Bono estates later in the summer. One day I really must share these stories...

DJ Anonymous