Gett off

It was most interesting to read that MCD are taking Prince to court over his no-show at Croke Park last summer. He says it was all someone else’s fault and MCD say it was all his fault but if anyone talks about it they’re going to get Carter Ruck to take them to task. The truth will out in court sometime next year.

However, I can exclusively reveal that Prince was in Dublin last summer. You see, me and him have been pals for years now. Ever since he wrote that song about me. No, not Sexy Motherfucker, Purple Rain. Back then if I ate enough blackberries my urine would turn a bright reddish-violet and he would implore to me relieve myself from his thirty-sixth floor balcony spattering passers-by with my song title inspiring piss.

We have stayed in touch over the years and he paid a secret visit to Ron’s last summer just to ensure everything was going ok for the gig. Don’t believe what you read about him cancelling it because of poor ticket sales. That is so far from the truth as to be really far away from the truth. He is notoriously temperamental and it was in a fit of pique that the concert was cancelled.

As he glugged a pint of Guinness and chomped away on one of Ron’s famous Scotch Eggs, he, being somewhat in his cups, decided he’d invite everyone to dinner. But not at a fancy restaurant or anything like that. No, dinner in my house and he would be the chef. I was a bit put out at the fact he had invited people to my house as I generally do not like people being in my house but I went along with it as he’s an old friend and a bit stroppy if he doesn’t get his way.

Now, Prince is a vegetarian and steadfastly refuses to even look at meat, let alone handle or cook it. I am a rampant carnivore but earlier in the day I gorged myself on offal pie to make up for the fact that dinner was going to be meat free. That afternoon I took Prince shopping. Off we set on my trusty Honda 50 and went to various supermarkets as he sought ingredients for his vegetable and bean stew. We went from grocers in Crumlin to Tesco and Superquinn and Dunnes Stores and corner shops for the various bits and pieces.

He was, I thought, completely satisified and after driving him and 7 stone of vegetables around for three and a half hours I was rather tired and ready to head home. But no. He had other plans. I have to say we argued. Me craning my neck to turn around and berate a stroppy rock star who was insisting we got the nearest German discount supermarket at once. It was quite the contretemps, I have to admit and in the end I simply refused despite him insisting we needed a specific kind of zucchini to make the menu complete.

“Look”, I said, “you’ll simply have do without. Haven’t you got enough anyway?”

“No”, he screeched, beside himself with temper. “I need it. It’s the vital ingredient. You must take me”.

But I did not. And Prince, having been unable to source his Lidl Red Courgette, swore never to return to Ireland again.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 13th, 2009 at 10:11 amand is filed under Blog, de-punz. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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