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Drama from Ricardo

Featuring:

  • Bono
  • Sir Bob Geldof
  • Greetin Thunderbird

And a special guest appearance by Nigel Farage

Scene: The Clarence Hotel in Dublin.

Bono is enjoying a beautiful spring day, scrolling on his Samsung tablet whilst sipping a decaf americano in the bar in The Clarence Hotel in Dublin whilst dreaming about investing in more tax-efficient investments in Lithuania, when in walks His Royal Highness Bob Geldof along with Greta Thornberg.

Bob: Oh hi mate! Mornin’ Paul. Fancy bumping into you here. This has made my day. 

Bono: What the feck do you want coming uninvited into my feckin ho—?

Greetin: How dare you? HOW DARE YOU talk to my hero like that. Do you know who you are tal—

Bono: Who the feck is she?   

Bob: Paul, my grand friend, please just calm down. Please. After all the millions of Euros you have spent on this place, and avoided in tax, you don’t want to waste all that money by having a big hissy fit and scaring all your customers and investors away. 

Bono: Okay. What do yer want? I’ll give ye 2 minutes as my Tax Accountants from Malta and the Netherlands are due to arrive soon. And don’t call me Paul. Only my closest friends and my tax advisors are allowed to call me that. No-one else. 

Bob: Okay. Please forgive me. You seem a bit Edgy this beautiful day. Well what do you want me to call you? Adam?  

Bono: Bono.  BONO.  BONO, yer feckin stupid idjit.

Greetin: Bono? What kinda fookeen name is that? 

Bob: I think it’s the name of an ancient Celtic Chieftain from Wexford who saved Ireland in 60AD from being invaded by a legion of Roman Tax Inspectors.

Bono: Jasus, will yer just the feck up you imbecile and get straight to the feckin point? 

Greetin: How dare you? HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY FRIEND LIKE THAT? I’ll have you know he once had an audience with the Pope.     

Bono: I don’t care if he’s had an audience with the CEO of the Dutch Ministry of Taxation. He is starting to—

Bob: Okay guys, please calm down. Well, you’ve heard about this coronavirus? Well, I was hop— 

Greetin pipes in giddily: Coronavirus? Hey guys, I remember spending an all expenses paid month in the presidential suite of a 5 start resort on that idyllic little island last year when circumnavigating the Med in my personal, handmade, solid teak, ozone-friendly, zero carbon footprint yacht. Coronavirus is just off Greece and I remember, with a heavy heart, in fact an even heavier heart  than when I read about that poor giraffe being killed in Copenhagen Zoo then chopped up for food for all the zoo’s carnivores in front of a load of Danish school kids, three quarters of my crew abandoning ship as soon as we got to the harbour saying something about they couldn’t stand listening to my drivel any longer. How dare they talk to me like that? How dare they not support my personal crusade to save the world? How dare—

Bono: Who is this fecking idgit you’ve brought along with you? 

Bob: Sorry Bono. Greta gets a bit carried away at times. She can’t help it, its hardwired into her DNA. She’s Swedish. You know what they’re like as a nation for being hot-blooded, passionate and volatile. Just look at the cars they make. Volvo. Saab. These car marques just ooze hot-tempered Vikings which are liable to go completely and utterly berserk at the drop of a cow-horned helmet. But she’s a good kid. She is singlehandedly fighting to stop climate change. Without people like Greta, we’ll all be bollixed in 10 years’ time.         

Bored witless already, Bono goes back to scrolling on his Samsung tablet when, with an  eruption that would send shivers down the spine of Mount Vesuvius, he exclaims lamentably: Aaarrrgghh Nooooooo. Holy Feckin Tax Havens. Feck and bollix. Footfall in Lithuanian shopping malls has just collapsed all due to this fecking virus.  

Bob sycophantically: Ah, that’s grand Bono as it happily brings me to my request for a tiny, little favour from your truly awesome, philanthropic good self, if you could be so kind as to listen to my humble request.

Bono absentmindedly: First Georgia, then Crimea, then East Ukraine and now a shopping mall in some one horse town in Lithuania.  I bet feckin Putin and his FSB stooges are behind all this. 

Bob: Bono? Sir?

Bono: What were you saying? Sir? Are you now being a smartarse? 

Greetin piously: How dare you? HOW DARE YOU address my climate changing comrade in arms like this? He has a knighthood from the Queen of England. Unlike you. So show Sir Bob some respect.

Bono lurches forward belligerently onto the edge of his 19th century Chesterfield armchair (which, according to the furniture salesman, once comforted the weary buttocks of the great Oscar Wilde) like a demented Irish Wolfhound upon being informed that it resembles a more stupid and shaggy version of Scooby Doo: I would never accept a feckin knighthood from that tax dodging, blood sucking, millionaire parasite. I have my principles and would never betray my working class roots. And as for you yer—      

Bob goes down on bended knees: Dear, dear Bono, please, please, please hear me out. I beg of you. I want to launch a global appeal to raise money to buy protective equipment for all NHS members and I was looking to see if you could make the first donation so we could buy some much needed equipment for all the under-resourced nurses and doctors.  

Bono: INXS? I didn’t realise they were all qualified doctors. Surely they must be loaded if they are all GPs and I bet they all live in Elizabeth Bay. So those tight gets can put their hands into their own pockets and buy their own equipment, as far as I’m concerned.  

Bob: Bono, no— 

Greetin excitedly: Bononos! I came across them on my recent, eco-friendly tour of Central Africa sponsored by Rio Tinto. I stayed in some great 5 star hotels. Though I had to pay for the hotels’ spas and all my evening meals but luckily I was able to use my new American Express Black Card. Did you know— 

Bob: Greta. Shush, please. The NHS is the beleaguered National Health Service in the UK. Plus I would like to raise money for the HSE in Ireland.  

Bono: Right, if yer promise to bugga off within the next 5 minutes. I’ll donate €500 to this noble cause. But on condition that it is called The One BONO is stronger than COVID 19 Trust and it has to be set up in Switzerland.    

Bob: Well, I was humbly hoping that you could donate a bit more than that.  €1 million maybe?

Bono: Look things are a bit tight at the moment. You know all the slums in the banlieue of Paris, full of the downtrodden masses who have been trampled on, chewed up and spat out by the elitist French Establishment under Macron? These lost souls are my brothers. Every moment of every day I feel their pain in La Place de Clichy. I hear their cries of anguish in Grigny. The constant gnashing of teeth in Seine Saint Denis. (Bono starts sobbing whilst mournfully thumping his heart. Meanwhile, Greetin starts asking a drinks waiter how big the Clarence Hotel’s penthouse suite is and could she stay in it for free otherwise she’ll organise a student demo outside the front entrance before the week is out). 

Bono as he gently places his hands on the heads of Bob and Greetin: So I urge you both to reflect for a moment on their lamentable plight, as they struggle to survive life’s vicissitudes from one day to the next, in a society that just doesn’t care, for a moment as I pray for my banlieue brothers. 

Bob: So what is the relevance fo this to my humble request? 

Bono: Just give me a moment whilst I compose myself after thinking about those poor wretches who are cruelly kicked in the guts every day by the blood-sucking millionaires residing in the 16th arrondissement. These outcasts of Paris, who have risked everything for a better life in the land of Equalité, Liberté and Fraternité, from places as diverse as Chad, Mali, Algeria, Syria and presumably Lancashire, live in absolute squalor. Poor sanitation, sub-standard housing, rampant crime, no jobs, drug addictions. The list just goes on and on and it stabs me in the heart just thinking about it. (A tear falls from Bono’s eye like water dripping from a rusty gutter) Do you know it’s common for a family of 6 to share a tiny, cramped, one bedroom flat. It’s’ heart breaking. Ah, and I’ve just bought a 72 bedroom chateau, 32 kilometres away and it’s cost me a bloody fortune. €14.23 million yet it needs a new roof. That will set me back another €175,000. Have you ever had to deal with French tradesmen? Bloody nightmare.

Bob: Shouldn’t the survey have picked up the extensive roof repairs?

Bono: Do you think anyone in their right mind was going to pay €738 for a survey? They obviously thought being a supposed ‘rosbif’, that they could pull the wool over my eyes. Fools.

And you should see how much I have to pay each year in taxe fonciére and taxe d’habitation.

Habitat and Brazil.

Lebanon Pine Tree – build up this bit

Bono: Why should I support all the hospitals in the UK and Ireland? What about all the starving kids in Africa ? (Bono starts a slow clap as though he was at a Leonard Cohen concert) Do you know that every time I clap my hands, a starving kid in Africa dies of malnutrition?

Greetin: Well stop fookeen clapping then.     

Greetin is saved from instant defenestration by her beeping mobile as Bob and Bono are mesmerised by the siren-like cackling on Greetin’s mobile.

Greetin talking excitedly: Oh, hi honey bun. You light up my life just by texting me. How are you baby? How are your boys? And is Harry being a good lad? 

(More cackling on her mobile). What, he still does everything you tell him to, even telling his Grandma to get knotted! That’s wicked.  

(Mirthlike cackling on her mobile) like an obedient little puppy. Hey, that’s awesome. 

(More cackling). But don’t give him too hard a time as I do think you were expecting a bit too much when you demanded that he tell his Granny to ‘go kiss my ginger ass’.  But you must be so happy. 

(Agitated cackling on her mobile). WHAT?? You have to give back your £4 million pound little cottage? And after all that hard work you spent doing it up? 

(Contemptuous cackling). A decrepit old dump built in 1801. I agree, why couldn’t they get you a brand new, 5 bedroom condo overlooking Canary Wharf and within spitting distance of the US and Canadian Embassies? 

(Empathic cackling)  How dare she? HOW DARE SHE throw you out of your marital home, a struggling family with two unemployed and aimless parents. Who does she think she is: the Queen of England?  (more agitated cackling) 

An exasperated Bob: Greta, have you finished yet talking to that self-obsessed, self-promoting bimbo?

(Loud cackling ‘I heard that, asshole’ with a not particularly welcoming invitation to the ‘Judas-like, Fenian stooge of the British Establishment’ to kiss the aforesaid cackler’s ass).   

Greetin: Bob, please, how dare you? HOW DARE YOU listen in to my private conversation? Megs is calling me from Los Angeles despite being destitute and unemployed with a royally unemployable husband in tow. And now the parsimonious President Trump has refused to give them a bodyguard even though she appeared in Suits and she once wrote a letter to Hillary Clinton.

(Annoyed cackling questioning what is going on and why Greetin isn’t giving her, her full, undivided attention when she is speaking)   

Greetin: Sorry babe. Please forgive me. 

(Irate cackling). I agree with you, the Brits have absolutely no class or manners. Though he says he’s Irish. 

(Highly agitated cackling) Yeah, they’re not much better despite their nicer accents. WHAAT? Holy Celsius. You have to pay back the £2.4 million you spent on renovating the cottage? All of it? 

(Panic-stricken cackling) What? You are no longer eligible for funding from the British taxpayers and no further series of Suits are planned? 

(Hysterical cackling) I know, hun, I’m with you sister. I cried my eyes out too when you were interviewed on TV by those evil bastard British tabloid journalists and all you did was opine that you were ‘surviving not thriving’ in your taxpayer funded, £4 million, little, 200 year old hovel. 

(Lawsuit-threatening cackling). I know. I cannot believe they have taken your hard-earned royal title away from you. These disrespectful fookeen Brits don’t recognise Hollywood royalty when they see it. I know a good lawyer in Malmo if you need one. Just look at what he did for Tiger Woods’ ex-wife. 

(Disinterested and disingenuous cackling). Oh me?? Yes, I’m fine thanks. Thanks for caring about me. 

(Utterly disinterested and thoroughly bored mini-cackling) I’m stopping in the Coronarvirus Hotel in Dublin (Bono apoplectically drops his coffee cup) Yes, I know. Funny name for a hotel. May explain why it is empty. 

(Eruption of interested cackling). WOW! Vanity Fair and Vogue want us together on the front covers of their June issues and they will fly me First Class to New York tomorrow? Fantastic. 

(Serious cackling) But why can’t I be in the foreground for one of the photo shoots? 

(Blunt, take no shit cackling). OK, everyone knows that you are a raving beauty and yes, I know that the key to your path for eternal self-enlightenment has always been ‘I want thus I get’. 

(Persuasive, ‘win-win’ cackling) Okay, if you promise to organise free trips to NASA and Disneyworld Florida then I’ll be happy to sit in the background on the photo shoots. But, and please don’t take this the wrong way hun, I’m only trying to help, but I really don’t think ‘I want thus I get’ would be a great brand name for your new range of women’s clothing (cackler hanks up). Hmm, I think she listened to me this time. Oh, how on earth could I survive without 5G? It’s a godsend and—.        

Bono and Bob in unison like a pissed off Foster and Allen: Have you finally finished? Can we continue? How about you switch your phone off?

Greetin: How dare—

Bob: Greta. Be quiet. Get an Apple. 

Bob on a roll: Could you at least spare us €825,000?   

Slaine Castle 

At this point, in strolls Nigel Farage. 

Nigel loudly and ebulliently breezes through the lobby: Bonjour mes amis. Or should I say Achtung Baby? (Nigel laughs manically)

Bob: Oh, no. Not that fooker. 

Nigel: Love your hotel Bozo, old boy. Looks amazing. Did you name it after the Duke of Clarence perchance? You clearly have a head for spotting an opportunity and turning a profit. I wish I could say that I was an entrepreneur. I love your music and was wondering when Clannad were thinking of getting back into the recording studio.