WHY DO WE HAVE RUSSIAN ARMED ESCORTS? Rock and roll trucks are always assigned security cars in Russia. But why? Will we otherwise be overrun with marauding bandits? It’s difficult to say, because every time I’ve driven to Russia I’ve had an armed escort. On each occasion I noticed no impoverished brigands lurking in the

U2 TOUR TRUCKS ENTER RUSSIA After the terrorist bombing of Moscow airport on 24th January, Russia has been catapulted to the fore of our minds. Right now, The Foreign Office advises us to avoid specific regions of Russia for all but essential travel. But take extremists out of the equation; are we left with a

Ever wondered how I got into rock and roll? Check out my latest article, published today.

Did you know this? There isn’t a single proper shop inside Madrid’s airport. Oh, sure, you can buy spirits, tobacco and fragranced fripperies till your heart’s content. But try getting stranded there for a day without essentials – amongst spurious rumours of an onward flight to South America – and you’ll see what I mean.

‘The funny thing,’  adds Mark, ‘is that we don’t even listen to U2 at home. But I love the excitement here amongst the fans: that angst, that knot in your stomach half an hour before you go in. Then the elbows everywhere; places guarded jealously; every man for himself.  And then we’re all friends again

There are two extremes. On one hand, there is the crew. Few of us bother watching a show while on tour, be it Madonna, Bon Jovi or, in this case, U2. We tour primarily to pay our mortgages. Free travel, and chasing providers of milk and love, are arguably splendid bonuses, but fundamentally we’re in

The dreaded hour has arrived. I “gown up”, along with a dozen other people, and head into the operating theatre. Yes, I did say a dozen. Maybe that’s why they call it the delivery room – with all these blighters milling about, I’m half expecting a Fedex parcel and a crate of milk to arrive

A month? Oh, I’m awfully sorry – those promised four weeks have morphed effortlessly into almost eight. So what’s been happening, you wonder? Well, to give a filleted version of events: civil war erupted in Rio barely hours after I’d left; and that florid-faced celebrity, Namibian, has decimated food stocks on the Shakira Tour. Munich,

‘What you want to do,’ advised Gentleman Steve, ‘is put all your photos on an external hard drive.’ He paused, leaned back, and forked in another mouthful of supper before volubly continuing. ‘And then delete them off your computer.’ Sounds good, I thought, envisioning a pretty nippy browser after 10 GB of pictures had been