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 Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD

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PostSubject: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:36 pm

This is my whimsical look at the hectic schedule the boys MIGHT follow. The events are purely from my lurid imagination and no offence is intended to any living person - especially IL Divo!

***********************

Diary Of A Supergroup.

Day One: London, Monday, 6.40 am.

The Jet dipped through the clouds and started to make its final descent into Heathrow airport. Inside the business class cabin, passengers were in various states of wakefulness. The members of Il Divo however were all still sound asleep; exhaustion brought about by the demands of their schedule was still very evident.

‘Bing Bong … Ladies and gentleman, we are now making our final approach into Heathrow, London. Please ensure that all safety belts are fastened and seats are in the upright position.”

Still there was no movement from the guys so the flight attendant moved in to lift them out of their slumbers.

“Mr. Bühler, Mr. Izambard … time to wake up, gentleman. We’re about to land”.

Urs was the first to stir, rubbing his eyes like a disconsolate child and yawning hugely. He leant over to where Sébastien was still lost in his dreams and roughly shook him awake.

“Merde! … Get off ... I am sleeping!” Urs couldn’t help smiling as he thought, ruefully, how he would love to be still ‘sleeping’ too. “Well you have got to stop sleeping now, my friend. We are almost in London. Come on!”

He shook him again, enjoying the satisfaction of making Seb as awake as he was, as the flight attendant moved on to Carlos and David, beginning the same speech to them …

“Mr Miller, Mr Marin, We are …”

“I know, I’m not asleep - just struggling to open my eyes!” David peered through half open lids and smiled at the blonde girl.

“Thank you, I’ll get Carlos up now, don’t worry”. Come on Carlos, the pretty lady is telling us that it’s time to get up.”

“Pretty lady, Where?” Carlos sat up abruptly and let his hooded eyes roam, hungrily, around the cabin. “ Ah! Si Senora. Thank you so much.” He flashed his usual searchlight smile in her direction, causing the attendant to blush, coquettishly, as she reluctantly moved on to the next passengers.

Urs turned to his other companions, a sardonic smile playing across his face. “Well, good morning guys. Are we all ready to meet our public?”

Suddenly a groan erupted from beneath Sébastien’s still pulled up, blanket.

“Oh! Where are we?”

“On a plane!!” This answering chorus from the other three left any on-lookers in no doubt that it had been said many times before! But few heard Urs’ added whisper of: “As usual."

All four band members smartened themselves up before landing, in readiness to meet their fans. As the plane touched down they hauled themselves to their feet and made their way to the exit. Of course, being the men they were, they couldn’t help reacting to the assembled people on the plane, especially the prettier members of the crew and Urs was eventually constrained to drag Carlos and Seb towards the doorway as they were attempting to charm every female in their vicinity. His apologetic wink, however, caused just as much consternation amongst the women, and a few of the men, as the others’ more obvious charm offensive had done.

They quickly made their way through baggage collection and customs, soon appearing in the arrivals lounge, which was eerily quiet.

“What, no greeting party? We really should make sure that the ladies on the forum are kept informed of our movements. This doesn’t look good.” David’s comment was delivered with heavy sarcasm.

“Well, if you bothered to visit the forum more often, you could tell them yourself!” Urs threw this quip over his shoulder and he immediately began to sprint away from the gangling American’s thrown punch.

“Ah - listen to Mr Goody-goody, just because he has finally worked out how to turn his ‘labtop’ on. No need to feel superior. When you’ve posted as many times as me, then you can feel smug.” Seb nodded his head to emphasise his point.

“Posted as many times as me!” Carlos mimicked in a singsong voice. “Now who’s boasting, Frenchie!”

The ensuing scuffle caused Steve to raise his voice, reminding the boys that they were actually international stars - not boy scouts on a jamboree. Their childish giggles and rebellious murmurs only reinforced Steve’s point.

As they crossed the open concourse they observed the first signs of recognition from a group of women waiting near the Bureau de Change. They were returning from a hen weekend in Amsterdam and many of their number looked decidedly the worse for wear but excited murmurs could be heard as the boys drew near.

“Hello Ladies”. Carlos, never one to ignore women, whatever their state, accompanied his words with a friendly wave. This prompted one of them, a large, forty something, blonde lady to charge, exuberantly, in their direction. She grabbed at Urs’ arm and he turned to face her, inwardly groaning, thinking that it was far too early in the day for this. His fixed smile, however, did much to disguise his thoughts.

“’Ere, aren’t you that G4 …Jonathan somebody, that’s right, i’nt it? You were on Pop Idol! Go on; do a bit of that Queen song you sing”. David began to patiently explain the truth of the situation only to be drowned out by Seb’s rousing chorus of

‘Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia, let me go.’

Urs grinned as he clasped his hand over the Frenchman’s mouth.

“Shut up, idiot! - or at least do one of ours!” said Carlos, immediately launching into an impromptu performance of ‘A Mi Manera’ to which all the three others quickly added their voices.

The bewildered women listened in astonishment, as did many others who were lucky enough to be nearby. As they finished the final crescendo, applause could be heard throughout the vast hall and the boys smiled, sheepishly.

“Ooh - that was lovely. You should definitely go on pop idol next time - you’re quite good! Tarrar!” David watched as she spun on her heel and walked back to her companions. He wore a bemused look on his face as he turned to the others.

“Should we ask Simon if we could audition, then, or what? We could always learn a few Queen numbers! - if that‘s what the fans want.” It was Seb, however, who had the final word on the subject.

“No, no, no! Our fans are much more …’ow do you say … more discerning. They know good music … altogether a better class of fan!“

Amid much nodding of heads they walked towards the exit. Their progress was hindered by a few of those fans who really knew who they were and requested autographs, handshakes and the occasional hug but finally they were able to leave the building and go to the pick-up point.

The people carrier with blacked out windows was standing at the curb-side. There was no sign of the driver so David shrugged to the others and dragged the sliding cab door open … to the great surprise of its occupants. There, sitting inside, drinking a last bottle of cheap bubbly were the members of the hen party.

“Well come on in, handsome, glad you could join us!”

A large flabby arm extended through the open doorway and grasped David’s sleeve firmly before yanking him into the cavernous vehicle. He fell in an untidy heap on the floor of the van and was immediately assailed by lots of groping hands, eagerly pretending to help him up, among fits of giggles and many lewd comments.

“Ouch! Geddoff, will ya?” Screamed the alarmed American as the hands continued to move, lasciviously, about his body.

“Oh … please don’t do that, Ma’am, thank you!”

He firmly halted the progress of one particularly inquisitive palm, mid way up his thigh and turned beseeching eyes to his three friends, who were stood around the open doorway, wearing looks which ranged from alarm to extreme amusement on their faces.

Urs looked at Seb and tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the grin from his face as he gestured that it would probably be the right thing to do to help David but Carlos laughed, uproariously and looked, for all the world, as though he would like to join in. Urs took hold of David’s free arm and hauled him, unceremoniously, back through the opening, where all three helped to brush him off.

“Aww! Come back, sweet‘eart, I haven’t finished with you yet.” said the woman who had first grabbed him. “And my mate would love to get friendly with that one who looks like the G4 guy - yeah, you, with the long hair! In fact why don’t you all come in? We could have a right good party!” The four Divo’s looked at each other in alarm and then turned back and waved before hastily shutting the door.

“Wrong car, idiot!” smirked Carlos, as he pointed to the open doorway of the correct vehicle, where Steve was standing with a bemused look on his face.

“Well, I know that, now.” As he spoke David wiped lipstick from his cheek and re-adjusted his clothing.

“Mistakes like that can seriously damage your health boy!” drawled Urs in imitation of David’s usual voice, to a fresh chorus of laughter as the four guys climbed into their transport and were whisked away to their apartments … and the chance for a few precious hours rest.

The next diary entry will follow soon!

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:37 pm

Day Two. Tuesday - Chelsea 9.30 am

The insistent twittering, trilling and cooing of the bird population of London, which seemed to be holding a convention outside his bedroom window, finally intruded on Urs’ sleep. He sat up and cradled his throbbing head in his hands. Damn birds, damn sunlight …and damn Seb for persuading him to help finish yet another bottle of that rather good Merlot which they had bought in duty free.

When would he learn that he couldn’t keep up with Sébastien where wine was concerned? The man was a connoisseur - or a drunk - depending on your point of view!

He clambered to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, knowing that an invigorating shower would make him feel better. Well, that, and the contents of his medicine cabinet, anyway. He opened the mirrored door to find two empty prescription medicine bottles, a tub of Vaseline and one lonely paracetamol tablet, sitting, forlornly, in a dusty recess of the top shelf.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust but, deciding that beggars couldn’t be choosers, hastily swallowed it, in the hope of gaining at least a little relief from the hammering inside his skull.

He turned the shower to a gentler setting, in preference to his usual full power one, fearing that such an onslaught on his delicate cranium would surely result in permanent damage today. As he stepped under the jets of warm water he felt instantly better. He allowed the rivulets to run down over his face and torso, reviving his spirits as they washed away the grime of the previous night.

His mother had always told him that cleanliness was next to godliness and he wholeheartedly embraced this philosophy. The insistent ringing of his doorbell brought him back to the present.

“Good God, I can’t even have a damn shower in peace, now!” As he grumbled, he wrapped his still dripping lower body in a towel and trudged belligerently towards the door throwing it open with a murderous look on his face.

“What?” His expression quickly changed from one of annoyance to one of embarrassment however, as he recognised the elderly lady who lived on the first floor of the building.

“Ooh! My goodness, dear! I’m so sorry if I’ve disturbed you. Well, yes, I have obviously disturbed you… you’re all wet, dear! Were you taking a nice bath and this silly old woman has made you get out and answer the door. What a nuisance I am!”

Urs was very tempted to agree with her but his good up-bringing came to the fore and, with difficulty, he assumed a … less than effusive smile.

“Ah - what can I do for you, Mrs Worthington?”

“It’s just Oscar, again dear. He seems to have gone on another of his little wanders. He hasn’t snuck in here while you weren’t looking, has he? He does seem to have a soft spot for you.”

As she spoke, Urs backed into the room, beckoning her to follow him. It was chilly and he wasn’t overly anxious for anyone else to see him in his present state of undress.

“Ooh, I don’t really know if I should come in dear. Whatever would the neighbours say? I have my reputation to think of, you know!” Urs’ smile immediately became genuine.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I haven’t attacked any ladies in weeks.” Mrs Worthington giggled, girlishly at the handsome Swiss and followed him into his lounge.

“I know that dear but it doesn’t take much to set tongues wagging, you know. I mean, if someone else was to see us now, they might wonder what we had been up to.” As she spoke, she glanced down at his towel, which left little to the imagination and then away, quickly, as if shocked by her own thoughts.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me for a just a moment, dear lady … I think that I should go and put some clothes on, then no one will be able to gossip at our expense. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Urs turned to enter his bedroom, but it was at that precise moment that the elusive Oscar chose to make his move. The huge ginger tomcat streaked from his hiding place behind the couch, colliding with Urs legs.

Urs was startled, the cat was most certainly startled and Mrs Worthington let out a wail as though she’d been shot! Startled cats often become cross cats and Oscar completed this little comedy of errors by leaping at his attacker, catching his claws in the draped towel and separating the towel … and Urs, from each other in one swift movement.

Urs quickly spun round to see the appalled woman clasp her hands to her eyes, as a scream left her lips. He stood petrified for a split second, with only his hands to cover his embarrassment … and stared right into the face of David, who was standing at the still open doorway.

He gestured to his friend to help the old lady and then realised that he really shouldn’t have risked moving his hands in that manner as another strangled noise escaped her throat. He had had enough so, gathering what little dignity he still retained, he moved quickly backwards through to his bedroom, slamming the door as he went.

When he returned to the lounge, fully clothed, Mrs Worthington and Oscar had departed but David was lounging on the couch, a look of innocent bewilderment playing across his face.

“Don’t start!” said Urs, with a growl, signalling that he was in no mood to fend off the quips and comments of his wry friend but that wasn’t going to stop David.

“Tsk, tsk, … it’s a good job that I came by when I did or you might have killed that sweet old lady. As it is she will probably be on tranquillisers for the foreseeable future. So … do you usually make a habit of seducing vulnerable old ladies at 10.00 am in the morning, or was this a special occasion?”

“Shut up! Vulnerable old lady. Ha! And that bl***y cat. I swear I’ll throw it out of the window if I get the chance.”

They were joined by Sébastien and Carlos, who ambled into the room amid amiable greetings and Urs groaned as he realised the opportunities to make his life uncomfortable that this incident would present to them.

David turned to them with glee.

“Well. You two have certainly missed all the excitement. I can’t begin to tell you what our friend here has been up to, guys … but I can tell you that you would have been shocked by the terrible scene that greeted my eyes when I arrived earlier.”

He then proceeded to describe, in luridly embellished detail, the events, while Urs stood, his eyes raised to the heavens, in silent prayer. The guffaws of laughter that were issuing from the others were, however, proof that his pleas had gone unanswered.


“And now he is threatening to commit cati-cide … or should that be moggi-cide … Oh, I don’t know what the word would be, but it’s definitely some sort of animal murder!”

All eyes turned to Urs whose thunderous expression left them in no doubt of his mood but he said nothing. He knew there would be no point; he would just have to let them get on with it. His only hope was that someone else would do something equally embarrassing or stupid soon, and take the spotlight off him.

This was obviously not going to be one of his better days!


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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:38 pm

Day Three - Sweden - 7.30 pm.

The studios were all but deserted as the boys tried, once more, to get the final track laid down so that they could stop work for the day.

“Damn it! What’s the matter now?” Carlos’ words showed just how much the constant repetition … and minute mistakes were getting on his nerves. He wasn’t alone.

Mike, the recording engineer looked worried. He knew that he was pushing these boys as far as he could and that they were very tired. They had only arrived back at the studios in the early hours of the morning after yet another hastily arranged signing in some far-flung corner of Europe. But he knew that they were perfectionists - they wouldn’t thank him for settling for less than the best.

“Sorry Carlos, mate! It’s just that you are not pronouncing the word ‘sincerely’ properly.”

“What! … I am saying ‘sintheerily’ What is wrong with that?” The flamboyant Spaniard threw his hands towards the heavens before turning towards the others with a look which demanded their agreement.

“Carlos, my friend. You nearly ‘ave it right. It’s ‘sinseely’. You are saying a ‘th’ instead of a ‘s’ in the middle of the word.” Seb’s helpful comment received a brooding look but Carlos was unable to answer before the others joined in!

“I thought it was pronounced ‘sin-seerely’, with a pause in the middle.” Urs commented, looking slightly bemused.

“You say sintherely and I say sinseelly - let’s call the whole thing off!” As David sang the well-known melody his three friends looked towards him and waited expectantly. They were used to him sorting out these little English pronunciation battles. He smiled, rather like an indulgent father would to his ignorant offspring.

“It sounds as though you need my help again, guys. It’s … sin…seer…ly, repeat it after me: sin-seer-ly, sin-seer-ly.” The others chorused the syllables as requested and then they all turned back to Mike, ready to have a further attempt.

After singing through the track a couple more times, things still did not sound quite right and the guys became more and more annoyed at their inability to perfect their work.

Everyone was becoming grumpier as the evening wore on but Carlos was showing signs of distress that couldn’t quite be attributed to work alone.

“Carlos, Carlos, calm down, amigo. You’re going to have a heart attack! You’re very anxious to finish tonight. Is there something ya just gotta do?” As he spoke, David placed a calming arm around his friend’s shoulders and waited for an explanation.

“Si … Real Madrid, they are playing …in the champion’s league. It is a very big game … importante, yes?”

“Ah! Soccer. I might have known!”

“Not soccer, … football! How can you Americans call a game football when you don’t kick the ball! I’ss crazy!” Sébastien started to laugh. He had heard this line of argument many times as David loved to wind Carlos up over his love of the game and his dedication to his team.

“Leave him alone, Yankee! You don’t even like sports so you shouldn’t talk. You stick with your play station.”

Urs didn’t really have opinions, one way or another, on this subject. He would occasionally watch football with Seb and Carlos but he had no particular allegiance to a team. He did, however, always enjoy the chance to joke at the others’ expense. He turned to Carlos and shrugged his shoulders in a placatory gesture.

“Now, now, gentlemen! Let’s not get excited about this again. After all … it’s only a game!”

At this Carlos once more threw his hands to the heavens whilst letting forth a stream of fast, angry Spanish.
“No! No! No! It is NOT just a game. Football is life and family and tradition! You understand nothing!”

Sébastien rushed between them as Carlos turned a belligerent face to the now grinning Urs.
“Oh, stop it Urs … you are too cruel!” Seb pushed Urs in the chest, pretending to be angry with him.

“Not cruel … just direct, very, very direct.” David’s wry comment caused Sébastien to roar with laughter as the focus of the incident now turned to Urs.

“Hey! I was on your side. I think I’ll agree with Carlos about football from now on.”

“Ha ha! You don’t know anything about either game. Go on, explain the rules to me.” David folded his arms and smirked, fully aware that Urs knew little more about sport than he did.

“Yes, Urs, why don’t you explain the offside rule to David? I’d love to hear your interpretation of that one.” As he spoke, Seb allowed a supercilious smile to play across his face. Few dedicated football followers are entirely sure of the finer points of the offside rule so he felt safe that the Swiss man wouldn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

All eyes swivelled towards Urs. He looked from one to the other, fully aware that they were waiting for him to make a fool of himself. Clearing his throat with a polite little cough, he stated simply:

“An attacking player should not be ahead of the last defender when the ball is played.... If there is there anything else you need explaining boys, just let me know.” Without waiting for a reply from his dumbstruck friends he turned and headed out through the studio door.

He was followed by Carlos, who quickly caught him up, in the corridor.

“See, white chocolate boy, I told you that would come in handy one day. Aren’t you glad, now, that I kept repeating it when I explained it to you last week.”

“Yes, indeed I am. Thanks for letting me win, for once!”

The two friends walked through into the chill-out lounge where a TV was to be found, still very pleased with themselves for getting one over the others. Urs, of course, still had no idea what the offside rule meant… but he certainly would never forget what it was.

Carlos settled down to watch the match he was so excited about as Urs nonchalantly flicked through a newspaper which was lying on the coffee table. As he turned the pages he came across an advert for up-coming concerts in the area. His attention was immediately caught by the notification that a heavy metal band would be playing in a couple of nights and he whooped his glee.

“Shssh!” Carlos didn’t even take his eyes from the screen as he angrily silenced his companion but he left Urs in no doubt that now would not be a good time to continue interrupting his viewing pleasure. As it was the picture quality left very much to be desired. There was no proper aerial for the television set and the image was grainy and flickering. Carlos cursed loudly at this and fiddled, continuously, with the wire coat hanger that had been jammed into the back of the set in an effort to improve things.

Urs realised that he wasn’t welcome in the lounge so he returned to the studio where the others were poring over the arrangements for the next track and enthused, excitedly, about his discovery.

“Oh! Yeah, great!” Sébastien’s less than animated response was at least an improvement on David’s total dismissal of the subject with an absent-minded wave of his hand. He felt affronted and wandered off to the corner of the room to sulk, while Seb and David continued their discussion of the nuances of tone and structure that they wanted for this song.

Without warning, every light in the room was extinguished and they were all plunged into total darkness. Mike produced a small torch from his drawer and focussed its beam on each of the three singers’ faces. Everyone was stunned into silence for a moment, unsure of what was happening.

Suddenly a loud crashing noise erupted from somewhere close by and they all looked at one another in alarm, before jumping to their feet and running out into the corridor to see what had happened. All was still and quiet there but a muffled scrabbling and muttered oaths could be heard, coming from the lounge.

Sébastien gingerly opened the door, afraid of what he might find and allowed Mike to squeeze past him, letting the torchlight dimly illuminate the chaotic scene that was to be found there. The place where the coffee table had stood when Urs had left the room only a few moments earlier was now entirely taken up by a heap of splintered wood and reading matter … all nicely topped off by a groggy Spaniard, still holding the bent coat hanger.

“Mon Dieu, Carlos! What ‘as ‘appened to you?” As he spoke Seb had quickly entered the room, followed, just as hurriedly by the others and was now trying to extricate Carlos from the rubble. Carlos’ answer, in rapid Spanish, told them little and they had to wait until he calmed down before he switched to English so that they could all understand.

“That damn TV, it is sh*t! I was trying to get a decent picture, si? …With this thing.” He brandished the twisted metal as he spoke. “But it came out in my hand …so I tried to force it back into the hole in the back of the set … and must have got the wrong hole! Don’t laugh, idiots. I might have been killed! Then there was a leetle explosion … and all the lights went out”.

“But how did you end up wrapped up in the coffee table?” It was David’s turn to take over the interrogation as Urs and Sébastien had decided to ignore Carlos’ warning and were each incapable of coherent speech, being convulsed with laughter.

“Madre de Dios! When the set went bang I jumped back and my foot - it caught in the wiring … and I kinda fell onto the table. I think it is broke.” He turned his eyes, mournfully, towards the debris to emphasise his point.

After he finished speaking he looked at the other two, murderously and gestured rudely towards them but only succeeded in doubling their hilarity as they took it in turns to mime the sequence of events that Carlos had just described.

“Shut up baboons!” You do not care that I could have died, as long as it is funny.”

“No, no Carlos! We do care that you are not hurt … but we’re also glad that it’s funny.” Urs made a supreme effort to compose his features into a look of concern while Sébastien clapped his Spanish friend, jovially, on the back.

“Well, we’re all very glad you are un ’urt, Carlos and I promise you that I will try very ‘ard not to make any jokes about putting things into wrong ‘oles … although I really ‘ave to say that it is something I never thought I would ‘ear you, of all people, say!”

“Yes, we all have absolute proof now what trouble doing that can get a guy into!” David’s comment announced that he had resumed his usual sardonic humour and even Carlos was forced to laugh as the innuendo sunk into his still confused brain.

With a quick smile he threw a cushion at his still smirking companions and announced grandly:

“Well Uncle Carlos is always ready to teach you all you need to know about life, boys! So don’t be afraid to ask.”

As they left the room together Urs supplied the final quip:

”Well, we’ll keep asking you, Uncle Carlos, as long as you keep giving us such entertaining demonstrations of the consequences”.


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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:39 pm

Day Four - Las Vegas - 1.00 pm

The hugely impressive grandeur of the Bellagio hotel greeted their eyes as they stepped from the limousine. From the dancing fountains to the spectacular Grecian Columns that adorned the frontage, all was simply perfect.

“Hmmm! Now this is more like it boys! David’s words fully expressed his nationalistic pride in the all-American edifice that stood before them and the others had to agree.

“Ah magnifique! I think I’m gonna enjoy staying ‘ere.” Carlos and Urs nodded their assent to Sebastien as they all followed the eager David into the airy marble foyer and walked towards the reception desk.

Soon, amid much fawning and pawing they were shown to their dual penthouse suites. The hotel had pulled out all the stops in their efforts to accommodate the guys in the manner of international recording stars and they were suitably impressed by their luxurious surroundings.

“Wow! Is this what we can expect from now on? It is a very far cry from my first apartment in Holland In fact, it‘s a very far cry from anywhere I‘ve ever stayed before, acshully!.” Urs strode through to one of the spacious marble bathrooms and whistled softly.

They had already stayed in many prestigious hotels throughout their travels and a few less than striking for that matter but this elevated the standards considerably. Seb was looking at the view from the balcony, admiring the ‘strip’ in all its glory.

“Hey! Look at this … you can see for miles.” He beckoned Urs over, gesturing in awe at the vista before him and exclaiming in almost childish wonder at where the edges of the town abruptly merged into the desert. There was a casual knock on the still open door and Carlos and David loped into the room like a couple of over-excited puppies.

“Hey! Aren’t these suites just fantastic … a bathroom each … bliss?” David’s exaggerated drawl emphasised each word he spoke and Seb whirled to greet them.

“Two bathrooms … really? I think I’m gonna like it ‘ere. No waiting for ‘Mr Clean’ to finish ‘is morning routine!” As he spoke he moved away from the balcony and went to explore the rest of the suite.

“Is yours the same as this?” Urs asked gravely and David seized on the doubt in his voice.

“Well, as a matter of fact, ours is a little bit grander than this … and we have the more prestigious view of the front of the hotel. Urs pursed his lips as he pondered this recurrent thorn in his flesh - David and Carlos always seemed to have that little extra something, wherever they stayed … and it drove him mad! Carlos decided to join in the banter.

“Ya, ya, ya! We have a whirlpool bath each and TV sets in every room…. including the bathrooms!”

“Dang, Carlos! You always go too far! I really must teach you the refined art of ‘winding Urs up’. It’s a particular skill which takes care and perseverance.”

Urs looked at his shoes, annoyed with himself that he had once more risen to David’s bait but he soon found a telling retort.

“Hey! You may get the best rooms … but Sebastien and I get more girls’ phone numbers. We always win there!” His satisfied smirk indicated that this, also was a subject of much debate among the friends

“Ah! Get outta here! … or I might just tell your girlfriend that you said that.” David pulled out his mobile phone to emphasise his threat, causing Urs to rush over and grab the phone from his friend’s hand before pretending to throw it out of the window.

“So … what are we doing now?” Seb looked from one to another of the guys expectantly. “If there’s nothing planned for this afternoon why don’t we go for a look around. This place is massive and I am prepared to bet that we will find lots and lots of pretty women!”

At this suggestion Carlos smiled, widely and clapped the Frenchman on the back.
“Ah, mon ami, you have such wonderful ideas! He threw his arm round Seb’s shoulders and the two skipped excitedly out of the room, closely followed by the much more restrained Urs and David.

At the rear of the hotel a grand promenade wound its way between the formal Italianate gardens and magnificent pools, to the convention centres. This was where they would be performing tomorrow evening in a glittering gala to mark the success of the Armani label in the States. The event was also programmed to introduce them more widely to the American press and hence, drive on the relentless publicity machine that now surrounded them.

As the guys strolled in that direction it quickly became apparent that there was a raucous commotion surrounding one of the huge suites. As they neared the crowd they glanced at one another in disbelief as the scene unfolded before their eyes. There, ranked before them, were two very disparate groups of angry people - each claiming their right to hold their convention in the double-booked building.

On the right, in ranks of satin jumpsuits, rhinestones and black wigs stood the massed troops of the Elvis Presley Fan Club, while on the left was arrayed the storm troopers, wookies and Jedi knights of the Star Wars Appreciation Society. Things seemed to be getting out of hand as angry words lead to jostling and pushing between the leading combatants.

“Jeez! Will ya look at that?” Looks like those Elvis nuts are trying to takeover the Star Wars convention.” David had immediately pinned his colours to the Star wars mast but he wasn’t going to find agreement in all of the others.

“No! Where are you looking? It is obviously the fault of those Star Wars idiots. The King has much more right to a fan club than a film.” Carlos spoke his words with derision, his love of music such as Elvis’ choosing his side for him.

Sebastien and Urs weren’t really interested who had the greater claim to the room, they were simply prepared to enjoy the delicious prospect of this spectacle, especially now that David and Carlos had joined in.

“Hey, Urs! We should get these two a uniform and a jumpsuit … then they can really join in the fun.” Urs sniggered at this suggestion and nodded vigorously.

“What a good idea, Seb. Carlos already has the hair, so some satin and glitter will look just fantastic and David … well, you should be that big robot … what’s he called?”

“C3PO! Very funny!” As he spoke, David produced a trite little smile in Urs’ direction, which entertained the others enormously. Carlos, however, seemed to like the idea and he immediately went into his mime as he sang the first lines of ‘Love Me Tender’.

Their hilarity was suddenly interrupted by the dawning of a deafening hush across the angry throng. The guys looked toward the crowd, wondering what could have silenced them so emphatically and their eyes met the third group of players in this incongruous farce.

Walking towards them and cutting a swathe through Elvis’s, Jedi’s and assorted monsters alike, strutted two statuesque beauties … wearing nothing but towels … and smiles! From their hands dangled the soaking swimwear they had so recently discarded before making their way back to the hotel. The term ‘speechless’ was invented for moments such as this!

As they neared our Divos, some invisible hand must have thrown the switch in Seb’s brain because he recovered first and jumped into the centre of the walkway, spreading his arms wide as he did so. “Ladies, lovely ladies - where are you going? You will break my ‘eart if you pass me by.

The girls giggled, coquettishly. They were very used to ogling male attention but this Frenchman and his friends were extremely cute.

“Well, we really need to put some clothes on, mister … but we could always come back!” The speaker was a stunning, long-legged red-head and she did, indeed, seem to be speaking for her friend, too.

“Or you could just stay ‘ere … I … and my friends are quite ‘appy with the way you are dressed.” His eyes danced as he spoke and his smile suggested that his face was in danger of splitting in two. It was Carlos’ turn to enter the fray.

”Lovely laydeez, you cannot leave us … we will die!”

“Hmmm! Carlos going over the top as usual.” muttered David in Urs direction.

”Yeah - well you can’t expect subtlety … that’s just not his style.” Urs’ laugh died on his lips as he realised that he was now the object of interest of the other girl as the cool blonde smiled invitingly in his direction. David saw the look, and Urs obvious discomfort at this turn of events and seized his moment. He strode between his friends and offered his arms to the girls.

“Hello Ladies. Don’t mind my European friends here. They’re not used to situations such as these and don’t know how to behave. So … if I could escort you to the safety of your room before they forget themselves … perhaps we could meet for a drink later!”


As he strode away with the beauties laughingly clutching his arms he stole a look at his bemused companions and had serious problems maintaining his composure as he saw Divos, flanked by hundreds of Elvis’s and Star Wars aficionados all wistfully watching them go.

Later that evening David sat and bragged, smugly, about his winning ways with the ladies while Carlos listened with a resigned smile on his face. He was happy to let the American enjoy his moment because his crown as chief ladies man of the group would never be challenged … well not for a while, at least.

A persistent knocking at the door interrupted David’s flow and he swaggered across the room in response.

“Probably the girls coming back for more of my urbane charm.” He threw open the door, smiling warmly.

“Well hi there guys, ahuh, ahuh! Is this the place for a party?

David was dumbstruck as his eyes were greeted by Sebastien, resplendent in full Elvis regalia, energetically gyrating his hips in the hallway.

But the surprises weren’t over as round the corner came the mechanical sounds of the famous protocol robot, as interpreted by Urs.

“Oh my! Mr Miller, sir. I’m not sure we should be doing this!”

Urs’ careful pronunciation wasn’t fully able to blank out the deep Germanic accent and like the erstwhile Elvis; his impression was failing miserably in authenticity but had huge comedy value.

The four friends eventually collapsed as the absurdity of the scene sunk in. David eventually recovered and decided to have the last word.

“Ya know what … I’m absolutely certain we shouldn’t be doing this Urs - it’s freaky! … bye guys!” As he finished speaking he allowed the door to slam, leaving the other two stranded in the hall in their costumes and with no alternative but to once more brave the public corridor.

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:40 pm

Day Five - Chelsea - 7.00 pm.

Urs checked his watch for the umpteenth time and snorted his disgust at the tardiness of his colleagues. He crossed to the front door and opened it, before peering up and down the hallway to see if they were even leaving their apartments yet but there were no apparent signs of movement from any of the others. In the last year or so, he’d promised himself many times that he wouldn’t take the responsibility for getting them to appointments on time yet he constantly found himself doing just that.

Always at least one of them would be unavoidably detained or just have to make that very important phone call and occasionally they would excel themselves in a collective orgy of lateness, as appeared to be the case tonight. When he could stand the inertness no longer, he marched out into the hall, slamming his door behind him.

Across the hall, Sébastien was happily surveying his appearance as he heard the loud bang echoing from the hallway. He didn’t have to wonder what had caused it, he was already very aware that he would be in trouble with ‘Mr Punctuality’ but he wanted to look good tonight.

It had been ages since they had all had the opportunity to have a simple fun night out and he, for one, was determined that he would look his best. The sharp, angry sounding rap on his door confirmed his suspicions and as he went to let his friend enter he prepared himself for the usual lecture.

“Good evening, mon ami! I was just coming out of the door to meet you … as usual you beat me to it.”

As he spoke he smiled genially, hoping to deflect the coming storm. To his surprise, Urs swept past him and threw himself down on the couch without saying a word. Obviously, he was more than usually irritated tonight and had decided to use his version of the silent treatment - which didn’t usually last very long, due to the fact that he never could resist the need to put his friends straight when he considered them to be in the wrong.

Seb was saved from having to cajole his friend into a happier state by the simultaneous entrance of the other two.

“Hi guys! All ready for a night on the town, are we?” David surveyed the scene as he spoke and gestured to Seb in the direction of Urs’ back.

Seb’s Gallic shrug told him what he wanted to know and he and the ever-smiling Carlos walked gingerly round to stand between the fireplace and couch.

“So! Are you ready for a good time tonight, Mr Rock God?” He sniggered as he spoke the name, so pleased that he had picked it up from the forum on one of his nocturnal visits, earlier in the week.

Urs treated him to a withering look that would have made someone who knew him less well quail but he still said nothing. David coughed and plonked himself down on the couch beside Urs before putting his arm around him.

“Aw - come on, buddy, we’re here now and ready to have fun. Please don’t sulk, I’m sorry!” Urs eyebrows shot ceiling-wards, showing his depreciation of this last comment.

“I’m not sulking, I’m just sick of always having to wait around for the rest of you. Why can’t you try to be on time for once? The restaurant is booked for 7.30 pm … which means that we’ve got fifteen minutes to get there!” As he spoke he checked his watch to emphasise the information he was delivering.

“Well, we’re all here now and ready to go so what are ya waitin’ for? You’re gonna make us late if you’re not careful!”

Urs bared his teeth in reply but couldn’t help letting it slide into a grin as David pretended to hide his eyes in fear. The two friends rose from their sitting position and joined the others, the situation satisfactorily diffused.

Finally they left the apartment, all grumbling forgotten and ready to let their hair down a little. Desperately wanting to be free of the corporate organisation that normally surrounded them, they had decided to take a cab and investigate the nightlife at their leisure. They had been pointed in the direction of ‘fun’ by one of the production team … and, boy, were they ready for it!

First they were taken to a chic little bistro where the food was delicious and the wine flowed freely. As they relaxed, the stresses and strains began to float away and the banter between good friends returned. Soon they were ready to move on to somewhere a little livelier, with ladies and music, perhaps, to spice up the evening.

David had been told of a really good little club which was off the beaten track of club land and where, he had been assured, they would not be bothered by prying paparazzi etc. Their taxi driver took them to the area but was unsure of the actual venue so the boys, feeling buoyed up by good wine and equally good feelings, decided to investigate the area a little.

There were lots of bars and clubs dotted around the streets and they felt sure that they would find somewhere to their liking. Blaring rap music caused them to drink up and leave quickly in the first place and the second one was somewhat lacking in ambience, being frequented by one solitary and decidedly seedy looking drunk who was swaying, unsteadily on his rickety bar stool.

“Mon Dieu, David, where is this place we are looking for? I’m getting desperate for my promised ‘good times’ now.” Sébastien wasn’t alone. The others were all beginning to think that tonight wasn’t going to turn out as promised and, consequently, there was much muttering and black looks passing between them.

“Hell! I don’t know. I’ll kill Richard tomorrow. He assured me that I’d find it easily; some joke, ha? Let’s move on and see what else we can find.” The others nodded their agreement and the four guys trudged back out into the street and walked in the direction of the next bar which was spewing loud music out into the darkened street.

They stopped in front of the glaring entrance lights, wondering if the place would be worth the effort.

“Well, we might as well go in, guys. We won’t find out standing here.” Urs, ever the decisive one, plunged into the somewhat garish interior of the small hallway, followed by the others. This opened into an intimate little room which enclosed a small bar and, in turn, led to a dance floor which was surrounded by seating booths and tables. People were dotted around and, as the guys entered, all eyes swivelled to investigate them.

“Hmmmm! This looks interesting.” David murmured to Seb who answered with a surreptitious roll of his eyes. Carlos turned to them both and with a shrug of his shoulders, took his usual optimistic line.

“Ah! We’re here now. Let’s have a drink and see what eet iss like. Hey! At least there are people here and some of them definitely look female.” Urs smiled at his friend, glad that at least one of their number seemed happy.

He crossed to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. The young barman smiled expansively as he took Urs’ money and allowed his hand to linger on his fingers a shade longer than necessary.

As Urs returned to the others he murmured quietly:

“Well, it seems that I’ve pulled.” As he spoke a rueful, lopsided grin played across his mouth and he gestured with his head to the doe-eyed barman. The others sniggered but said nothing. They were all used to male attention almost as much as they were the female variety so they sat in silence, drinking and looking around.

Things were definitely looking up however, for Carlos. He had spotted two un-accompanied girls, sitting in a darkened corner of the room. He turned to the others and rubbed his hands together in glee before striding, purposefully, over to where the ladies sat.

“Good evening lovely ladies.” The girls giggled flirtatiously and quickly made room for him to sit between them and he settled down as though prepared for a long siege.

“Hello, I am Carlitos … and I am so happy to meet you.” As he spoke he grabbed their immaculately manicured hands in each of his own. The others watched with amusement as he went into his well-tried routine of flattery, coupled with Latin charm; they had seen it all before.

Seb looked the girls over, wondering if it was worth his while to join the fray. His eyes brazenly travelled down the body of the nearest girl, a shapely brunette, right down to her pink toenails - he was nothing if not thorough.

Suddenly his gaze stopped and his eyes widened in first curiosity and then growing recognition. He nudged Urs and David frantically and pointed to the objects of his interest … she had the largest feet he had ever seen.

“Look at ‘er feet. They are enormous! I ‘ave never seen a girl with feet like that before.” The others peered through the gloom and were forced to agree with Seb’s comment, a comment which was rendered totally unnecessary, however, by the lady in question rising onto those gargantuan feet and pulling herself up to her full six foot plus height as she held her arms out to Carlos expectantly. Carlos’ mouth gaped as he followed her head upwards until he was straining his neck to focus on her.

Suddenly she spoke:

“Come on, big boy … let’s dance.” Carlos found himself clasped to a soft bosom but confusingly looking directly at an Adam’s apple. He dragged his gaze away and towards his companions, who were, in turn, wearing looks of bemusement on their faces. David strode towards the unlikely couple, not sure what he should do but sure he should do something.

Quick as a flash the other distressing damsel took this approach as an invite to join the impromptu dancing party and grabbed him, delightedly. Fortunately, unlike Carlos, David was not disadvantaged by height, his would be partner only reached his nose so he was able to hold the smaller man easily at arm’s length.

“Hey! Whassup pal? Are you on for this party … or are you just a tease?” The smaller guy’s tone grew belligerent, as realisation that he was not going to get his man dawned.

“Teasing, definitely teasing … I think.” replied David, as light-heartedly as he could muster.

The raised voices were starting to draw attention to the sordid little scene and the guys began to feel uneasy. They were drawing a crowd and it wasn’t populated with admirers.

As one they acted as if faced with a gang of marauding groupies … they backed carefully towards the exit, smiling sweetly, until they were able to escape out into the relative safety of the street. Once outside they dashed round a convenient corner and stood gasping and grinning at one another.

“What the hell was all that about?” Urs exclaimed but no answer was forthcoming. Indeed, Carlos still appeared dumfounded by the recent events; he had obviously not processed the information he has received from his strange encounter. Eventually he spoke:

“I don’t understand; she seemed like such a lovely lady but …” As his voice tailed off his hands re-enacted their rise into the dizzy heights, on the shoulders of his erstwhile partner and the others collapsed in laughter, enjoying his discomfort anew.

“Lovely lady … don’t thinks so, amigo! Surely the hair peeping over the bra gave him away!” David clapped Carlos on the back, fully aware that there but for fortune he, too, could have easily found himself the butt of the others’ jokes on this occasion.

Fortunately, Carlos’ usual good humour quickly returned as the absurdity of the situation dawned on him and, amid much laughter, the four companions walked off together, into the night.

After a few more unsatisfactory excursions into unsuitable bars they decided to draw the whole sorry evening to a close and returned home to their apartments. But they were reluctant to give up entirely as they still needed to re-charge their batteries before their coming schedule. Seb suggested a few ‘nightcaps’ and scurried off to his place to pick up the necessary supplies from his plentiful stock of good reds.

Meanwhile, everyone piled into Urs’ place. It was always neat and clean, which was more than could be said for the others’ places, at times. Soon, amid much argument, the music was chosen and the evening’s events were reviewed. It wasn’t what they had been expecting - far from it, in fact but at least they had been free to do as they wanted; however disastrous it had turned out.

As the empty bottles began to stack up in the kitchen, so the boys sank further into their comfort zone of a work-free environment. Eventually eyes drooped and the impromptu party showed signs of breaking up. First Carlos and then David decided to head home and Urs accompanied them, a little unsteadily to the door ………………..

[QUICK PAUSE HERE…. HUBBA,HUBBA…. A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG DOCTOR (WITH CURLS!!!) HAS JUST ENTERED THE WARD!! - DAMN - HE’S NOT COMING TO ME!!!!!!!!!!] Right, back to the grindstone - where was I? - oh yes………………………………................................................................................

and waved them congenially off to their beds before returning to chivvy Seb in the same direction. He was however, too late! When he returned to the lounge it was to the sight of a serenely sleeping Sébastien, flat on the couch and cuddling one of his expensive Mongolian cushions as though it was a favourite teddy bear.

Urs briefly tried to rouse him, without success so he decided to leave him where he was until the morning as he was much too pre-occupied with his own sudden desperation for sleep to worry unduly about Seb’s needs.

…. Seb’s eyes dragged themselves open and tried to make sense of his situation. Why he was on the couch and not in his bed, he had no idea but one thing he was sure of was a pressing urgency for the bathroom.

He stumbled through the darkened room and quickly found the necessary relief before transferring to the bedroom and tearing his crumpled clothes from his tired body before finally finding the comfort of the soft, warm bed….

…. Urs dreamed happily of warm sunshine and caring arms enfolding him. He snuggled deeper, enjoying the sensation of warm skin…..

Reality intruded into this idyllic scene as his brain registered the fact that he shouldn’t be feeling skin … he was alone for God’s sake!

His eyes shot open and he lay, fully awake and instantly sober, as he tried to work out what, exactly, was going on. He felt an arm clutched around his waist. It was a strong arm, a muscular arm … a hairy arm! In an instant he threw the intruding body part away from him as though it was hot and he turned, angrily, to face his molester … to be confronted by Seb’s angelically sleeping face.

What the hell are you doing, Seb? Why are you in my bed?” As he spoke he pushed roughly at Sébastien until the soporific Frenchman showed some sign of waking.

“Urs … what are you doing? And why are you in my bedroom? Leave me alone, I want to sleep.”

“This is my bed, acshully … and I want you out of it now!” Urs blustered as he hastily covered himself with the bed sheet. Seb did his best to focus as he peered up at the angry Urs.

“Your bed … why am I in your bed?” He raised his eyebrows … “Ermm - were you in your bed, too?”

“Oh, I don’t know what’s happening.” Urs sighed despairingly “Look, I’m going back to the lounge. Just get your clothes on, now!” With that the disgruntled Swiss swept from the room, still clutching the voluminous bed sheet to his body.

After a few minutes the still bemused but now fully clothed Frenchman joined him. He scratched his head and tried to gauge his friend’s mood but Urs pre-empted him.

“I left you where you’d fallen asleep on this couch and I woke up to find you … you…cuddling me!” He was bristling with injured pride and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even realise I was still here - I thought I was in my ap-art-ment … and I just went to bed. Sorry about the cuddle, though … don’t know what that was about. I must ‘ave been dreaming. Too much good wine, my friend.” The two men looked at one another, embarrassment written all over their faces.

“Oh! The other two are going to love this; we’ll never hear the end of it.” Urs raised his eyes to the ceiling as he spoke, already seeing in his mind the glee this mess would produce in David and Carlos.

“Well they won’t know if we don’t tell them, will they? I think we should just forget this last part of the evening - now!” Seb watched Urs face and was relieved to see his agreement and subsequent smile.

“What part of the evening, Sébastien… I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” Seb grinned in reply and set off towards the door.

“Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well … alone! ………. Unless, of course, you’d like me to give you another little cuddle before I go.” He held his arms out wide but his gesture was dismissed by Urs’ well-aimed cushion.

“Good night Sébastien - get lost!”

“Good night Urs …. Mwah!” The cheeky blown kiss sealed the secret deal - this would never be spoken of again!

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:41 pm

Day 6 - Sydney, Australia. - 1.00 pm

Sébastien stood on the balcony of his suite in the Park Hyatt Hotel enjoying the spectacular vista of Sydney harbour which lay before him. He could see the sweeping architectural curves and peaks of the famous opera house as it stood, glistening in the blazing sunshine and he salivated at the thought of someday performing in that impressive venue. Although he could be heard moaning about their killing schedule as much as the others, he was always ready to delight in the opportunities it threw up to see new countries and experience different cultures. And, so far … he loved Australia.

The warmth of the people was enhanced by their laid-back attitude to life and the climate was simply beautiful. Heat hazed the distant horizon and he thought with relish about their forth-coming visit to Bondi Beach and the chance of a few hours rest and relaxation. He loved the sea and couldn’t wait to try out his somewhat rusty surfing skills at this world famous beach.

They were, indeed, all looking forward to this afternoon’s excursion. The morning had been spent being driven around various radio and TV studios giving interviews. If they had to answer the same boring questions about girlfriends and auditions just one more time there was every chance that there would be a collective murder attempt on the unlucky interviewer. They were all aware that these publicity dates had to be done, but it was getting very hard to plaster on the smiling enthusiasm day after day.

Before long the carrier collected them and they made their way across the beautiful city and, finally, out to the beach. Bondi Pavilion stood as testament to the commercial value of tourism in the beach area. Shops and restaurants for all tastes were to be found there and they were taken to the surf hire shop where it had been arranged for them to hire wetsuits and boards.

Once inside they were measured and then they squeezed into tiny fitting rooms in order to try on the clinging neoprene suits. Much laughter followed as talc and helpers were requested in order to make it easier to drag the stubborn fabric over hot, perspiring limbs. Oh, how the ladies of the forum would have loved to volunteer for that job!!!

Only Urs had refused a full wetsuit, preferring what he was assured were called a rashie vest and boardies … board shorts and a lycra top which prevented the wearer from getting a rash from the close proximity of flesh to board. He decried the others as soft for their safer choices.

“You won’t need those big suits, you will cook in them. It must be over 40 degrees outside.” His scoffing tone was ignored by the others who preferred the protection of the full suits.

“Yeah, well at least we won’t be cold in the water. I bet you won’t look so cute when you’re blue.” David’s retort only proved that he had never actually been on a surfboard before and didn’t therefore understand the vagaries of sea temperature around the world. The ocean they were about to trust themselves to would be around 22 degrees at this time of the year and would actually feel like a tepid bath, rather than the cold Atlantic-like conditions he was anticipating.

Finally the four of them trudged out into the shop, clad in their gear and looking for all the world, like a trio of elegant penguins, accompanied by a cool surfer dude. Unfortunately, Urs only looked the part, as surf (of any temperature) in Lucerne and Holland was about as scarce as hen’s teeth and this was to be his first attempt. He decided to continue with his bravado however, choosing to attack the others’ lack of physical fitness.

“I bet you wish that you’d all come to the gym more often now, don’t you.” Urs’ smug tone was met by derisory comments and rude gestures but some surreptitious holding in of stomachs and barrelling of chests could be seen.

The quartet strolled out into the unforgiving sunshine. They had all been covered in high factor sunscreen as it had been drummed into them just how damaging the summer sun in this part of the world could be and they were guided up to the south end of the beach, where the surf was best.

Here also, were the enclosed pools, below the rocks, which took the eye up to the sandstone cliffs, on which could be found the famous edifice of Bondi Icebergs. This grand building had originally been a famous swimming club but now served the local beautiful people as a place to meet and eat. As they looked up stunning, bikini-clad girls could be seen, dotted around the place … and the girls had seen them, too!

The boys were to have some rudimentary instruction in the art of surfing before being offered up to the sea and they drank in what they needed to know, eager for the coming excitement. Their progress was watched eagerly by a particular party of girls who were obviously aware of who the boys were. Their behaviour grew bold as first Sébastien and then Carlos responded to their shouts of encouragement with airy waves and sultry smiles.

Without warning, one of the girls whipped off her bikini top to reveal her extremely ample charms … and all of the boys, for some reason, now lost interest in their surf instructor, preferring to smile wickedly at the luscious sights on offer. For Carlos it was too much and he threw himself at the rocks, in a theatrical gesture of trying to get to his quarry. The rocks, however, were slippery from the recently receding surf and he lost his footing, crashing back to the sand in an undignified heap.

“Oh Carlos, do not show us up in front of the girls … we need to impress them. Come on, stand up ... Smile!” Seb’s words were accompanied by a heavy-handed dusting off of Carlos’ back.

“I could not help it, mi amigo, did you not see … so lovely, so, so …” His words tailed off but his hand gestures, grasping large handfuls of air, left the others in no doubt about exactly what he had found so impressive.

“Oh! … I didn’t notice.” said David with a dismissive shake of the head.
“Yeah, right!” Urs’ smirk was wide as he turned his attention back to the surfboard and continued perfecting his technique - at least on dry land! His prophecy about the discomfort of the wetsuits in the heat was proving to be more than idle chatter as the others began to sweat uncomfortably over their lessons and soon there were signs of mutiny in the ranks.

“Aww, come on - that’s enough. Can’t we just get into the water before I fry.” Their instructor shrugged his shoulders, dismissively and the guys took this as a sign that they could, at last, ‘catch a wave’ … or die in the attempt!

They rushed eagerly into the water, splashing around like slightly ungainly seals. The locals dismissed their efforts as the usual tourist behaviour and gave them as wide a berth as possible but the boys were oblivious. At last they were having some fun.


Surf etiquette was unknown to them and soon much muttering could be heard among the seasoned surfers. This culminated when David paddled furiously out until he saw his moment to straddle his board to the pinnacle of the wave. Unfortunately a tanned hunk of prime Aussie manhood had already earmarked the same wave and had positioned himself perfectly to catch it. As he rose to his feet, so David sheered across his path, causing the surfer to tumble from his board. He broke the surface of the water and swam furiously to where David, too, had come a cropper.

“What the f**k d’ya think you’re doin’ mate? You don’t drop in on someone else’s wave, ya stupid galah! Jeez! If ya don’t know what ya doin, stay out of the bloody water.” He turned without waiting for an answer from the dumbstruck American and David’s consequent ‘sorry’ was lost in the sea’s roar.

The nearby instructor shook his head solemnly, explaining that David had been very lucky. "You never steal someone else's wave, mate. Strewth, it's a wonder he didn't bloody chin you!"

They continued their hapless efforts for a while longer. Only Sébastien had surfed before and showed a half-decent technique. The others got on the board … and fell off the board time and time again. Their laughter was manic as their efforts grew wilder but improvement was slow to come.

Suddenly a German tourist, who’s own ineptitude was serving to save the boys’ faces a little started squealing and pointing out to sea. Seb turned to see what had alarmed him so and beheld the terrifying sight of a fin protruding from the water, fifty metres away from them.

“Merde! Look at that! Get out of the water guys, quick!” The others looked to where he was pointing and also started to panic, turning frantically and splashing to shore. Urs tried his best to hold onto his surfboard, reasoning that it could be used as a float or even a weapon against the sinister creature. His efforts only succeeded in forcing the board to tombstone and it rose up out of the water at a steep angle and, a split second later, came crashing down onto his head.

Without waiting for an alarm the lifeguards were quickly on the scene and through the panicking melee of the shallows sprinted a blonde vision. Wearing the trademark red swimsuit, the woman pushed strong muscle and sinew towards the stricken Swiss. As she reached him she rolled him into the lifesaving position and effortlessly swam back to the beach.. Once back in the lapping shallows the Amazon-like heroine moved her grip to his ankles and dragged him, in this ungainly fashion, out of the water and up onto the sand.

Once there she surveyed her ‘rescuee’ and quickly checked his vital signs, her hands sliding over his body in minute and intrusive detail. Then she plunged to his face and, snapping his head back, she placed her mouth over his in what was supposed to be the ‘kiss of life’ but was actually little more than a cold, wet snog!

“Giddof him Narelle! How many times do we have to tell you … leave the rescuing to us?” The speaker and his fellow lifesaver wrestled the still snogging woman away from Urs who lay on his back, his face displaying a wide-eyed look of horror.

“Sorry mate! Poor Narelle gets a bit carried away when she sees a pretty face. You’ll be okay now.” As the two lifeguards strolled away Urs slowly sat up and stared into the grinning faces of his friends and then to the retreating men.

“But what about the shark? Aren’t you going to do something about it?” The older man of the two turned.

“What shark, mate? That was just a bottlenose. The dolphins love to get friendly with the tourists.” He could hardly contain his smirk as he spoke. He’d lost count of how many times the earlier scene had been re-enacted and he thought to himself, not for the first time:

‘Bloody tourists, scared of their own shadows! God bless Narelle - a lovely girl but thick as a brick! Still, you could always rely on her to liven ‘em up!’

“Are you okay?” As he spoke, David gingerly felt the lump that was visibly rising out of Urs temple.

“Oww! Well I was until you began prodding it, acshully.”

“Oh. I’m sorry … shall we get that nice lady, Narelle, to kiss it better for you? I’m sure she’d be only too happy to oblige ... probably kiss anything she could reach... acshully!.” David made as if to turn away, in search of his quarry.

“Shut up!” Urs clambered to his feet and walked away up the beach. But the others weren’t nearly finished with him yet.

“Ursy, it’s Narelle here … If you come with me, I’ll make you better… everywhere!” This was delivered in a squeaky tone, under-pinned by a strong Parisian accent

As he stalked away, they sauntered along behind him, blowing noisy kisses and making more and more outrageous suggestions as to what exactly Narelle would like to do to make him better.

Urs simply kept his eyes on the sand.. He always found that silence was the best policy at moments such as these but ‘Why? He mused ‘did it always have to be him!’

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:44 pm

Day Seven - Oslo - 8.00 am.

The insistent cacophony of the alarm tone on his phone dragged David reluctantly from his lovely dream. He hit the button to make it go away and closed his eyes, anxious to regain the scenes of distant home and family. After a few moments he bowed to the need to rise and shower for the coming day and he shuffled into the bathroom wearily. Another day of smiling and signing to look forward to. At least they would actually be able to sing today … Ah yes! He remembered singing!

Carlos lay with his eyes open but didn’t speak. No words were necessary … just another day on the treadmill!

This scene was more or less being repeated in Urs’ and Sébastien’s room. All four guys had been showing increasing signs of discomfort and unhappiness as they sped through Europe on this promotional tour and they couldn’t wait for the coming weekend when they would finally be able to link up with the people they held dear for a very well-earned holiday.

Soon the foursome met up in the hotel dining room and breakfasted before they had to leave for to the shopping mall where they were to hold the ‘meet and greet’.

“Hey! Heads up guys, not long to go now. Sébastien, just keep those sun kissed beaches in mind. And Urs, you’ll be up in the mountains before you know it.” David forced an enthusiastic smile onto his face as he felt the need to bolster the others’ moods.


“And I may never come down again. I’ll just hide away in a log cabin where Sony BMG can’t find me … Bliss!” Urs’ smile didn’t quite reach his eyes but he took up David’s theme.

“And Carlos … 10 days with your lovely lady … just think what you can get up to!” Carlos’ suggestive snigger was answer enough and the guys felt better as they thought about what they had planned.

David returned momentarily to that earlier dream. “I just want the time to enjoy sitting around with my family, chewing the fat. I don’t even care if all the cousins and other relatives descend on the house. I just want to enjoy a bit of normality for a while” He closed his eyes, seeing the longed for scene in his mind and the rest of the boys went silent, each lost in personal musings.

A whistle from the dining room doorway interrupted their reverie and they were informed by one of their entourage that the transport was in place and ready to go.

Once they were all inside the people carrier they were whisked off to the heart of the city, until they pulled up outside an impressive shopping mall, its marble frontage and grandiose architecture bearing testament to the importance which was attached to the ‘retail therapy’ phenomenon.

As they walked through its airy halls, groups of fans called out to them in excited Norwegian but the boys, being totally un-acquainted with this language, merely smiled and waved … and hoped that they weren’t agreeing to anything which they may regret later!

Finally, they reached the main concourse of the building and they scanned the scene, impressed by its proportions. A huge glass dome illuminated the area, showing serried ranks of fans on balconies and stairways.

The P.A. system played their CD as a muted background but this was punctuated by announcements to the public in the customers’ mother tongue. Fortunately the lads couldn’t understand the messages or they would have been treated to the ridiculous concept of Nella Fantasia being interrupted to deliver the precious nugget of information that halibut fillets were two for the price of one in the local supermarket.

Security precautions were very evident and suited men, who were prone to looking shiftily over their shoulders, guarded their charges zealously. The entire operation was overseen by an officious looking little man who dashed around in pursuit of his own tail as he checked and re-checked that everything was going according to plan. When he wasn’t barking orders at his minions, he was guiding the boys, none too gently, to the table which had been set up for them.

Once they were ensconced in their respective seats, the fans were allowed to approach and the signing got underway. An interpreter was on hand to help the guys with any questions they were asked but confusion reigned and there was much laughter as fans and Divos did their best to find some common thread of communication.

Throughout the proceedings, however, the self-important head of security stomped up and down, chivvying people along, often cutting them off in mid-sentence. His actions frequently transgressed the boundaries between efficiency and rudeness and tempers became frayed. This culminated with a fracas between himself and an irate father who witnessed his young daughter’s rough treatment when she was laughingly trying to make Sébastien understand her question about his earlier career.

‘Mr security’ decreed that she had used up her allotted time and wouldn’t let her stay to hear the interpreter’s answer but shoved her, unceremoniously away from the table. The girl cried out and Sébastien stood up gesturing angrily at this heavy-handed treatment. Papa, all 6ft 4ins of him, settled things by hauling his daughter’s attacker almost off his feet as he grabbed the lapels of his expensive jacket. His tight-lipped threat about what he would do if he ever saw him again was rounded off by the departing insult, which was spat out in broken English:

“Little Hitler!”

All the guys drew satisfaction from this result as they had all had many occasions when they had been treated inappropriately by people supposedly involved in their welfare. Sébastien had, only earlier that month been thrust into the transport vehicle whilst talking to a fan, despite being on crutches from an earlier injury and all the boys were expected to report their every move and then do as they were told, irrespective of their own wishes.

Urs leaned over to Seb and placed a calming hand on his arm. “Hey!” he whispered, “I think we should employ ‘Papa’ instead of ‘Hitler’ in future, don’t you?” Sébastien smiled at his friend and nodded.

“Oui, mon ami. We should. I’m so tired of all this ‘eavy stuff … it gives our fans the wrong impression of us. What will that little girl think now? That we don’t care!” He stared at the object of his animosity who was too busy trying to regain his shattered dignity to be aware of Seb’s opinion, let alone care what it was.

The performance of Senza Catene which followed the signing was, even by their standards, inspired and each added his own wonderful talent to the others’ to form the magic sound that is Il Divo. The crowd’s applause was warm and appreciative and a few ladies even presented them with roses as they had seen other divas do in pictures on the website.

Throughout it all ‘Hitler’ continued his crusade against anyone who looked as though they might break his rules and by the time they were ready to leave, the boys had just about had enough.

“Hey buddy! What gives with you? Why so aggressive with the fans. Most of them are middle aged women or little girls … you have to use a bit of common sense here!” The others stood behind David, nodding their heads accusingly. The little man eyed them all with undisguised hostility and then surprised them by speaking in a London accent.

“Gawd! You celebs are all the same. You’re never bloody satisfied. I suppose you’d be ‘appier if I let anyone who wants to, rip yer clothes off. You’d soon start whining then, wouldn’t you, pal? You don’t pay my wages, the record company does and I only do what they want me to so get off my case!”

“Pushing little girls around and insulting perfectly nice women are not in the interests of us or the record company. You were being … over-zealous! And that’s the nicest way I can say it. So don’t shout at me, pal” David pulled himself up to his full height as he replied and the others drew closer, determined to show this man that he wasn’t going to get away with his behaviour.

“I’m so tired of all you jumped up prima donnas! You’ll just have to lump it mate and do as you’re told. You seem to think this is some kind of democracy but yer wrong … it’s a dictatorship!”

“Yeah … and we all know who the dick is … mate!” David turned to the others, gesturing for them to head out of the building and ‘Hitler’ was left fuming in their wake.

He stalked off to oversee the loading of equipment. He stood amidst the serpent-like wiring, trying to make himself feel better by shouting at all concerned. Sébastien hadn’t moved and the others turned and waited for him, anxious to keep up their solidarity until they were away from their opponent. He observed thoughtfully for a few moments then bent down to fasten his lace. As he returned to a standing position his fingers closed on the trailing cable … and jerked, forcefully. The wires tightened around ‘Hitler’s’ ankles with surprising ease and his efforts to extricate himself only made matters worse. There was no saving himself and down he went like the Titanic as it encountered the iceberg.

The boys’ smirks became open guffaws of laughter as the red faced man rolled around like a beached whale. One by one they walked over to where he lay and, after much tutting and shushing they stepped over him and walked towards the exit.

The four weary men were returned to their hotel and a few hours of relative freedom were at their disposal before they had to give a TV interview, later that evening. Urs, as was his norm, chose to work off his pent up aggression in the hotel’s fitness centre, while the others decided that a little relaxation by the indoor pool might help them to chill out.

The pool area was impressive and Seb, Carlos and David enjoyed lying around on sun beds, even if there wasn’t any sun, drinking fancy cocktails … and watching Urs through the glass wall that separated off the gym area, as he drove himself, relentlessly, on the fitness machines.

“Wow, look at him go … he makes me tired just watching him. Waiter, another drink quickly please before I pass out.” David’s quip was greeted by the others’ laughter and they all raised their glasses to the hardworking Urs. What he raised back to them showed just what he thought of their sarcasm and more laughter was their answer.

But the laughter died in their throats as the door on the other side of the fitness room opened to admit a group of four young women, all clad in the tight, brief lycra outfits which were de rigeur for fitness fanatics. They spoke to Urs as though friends and the others could hear his exaggerated laughter from their poolside position. As he changed to the next machine in his circuit he glanced in the guys’ direction, a look of unbridled triumph on his face. The answering stares were all envious and he smirked shamelessly.

“Hmmm! No wonder ‘e spends so much time in the gym. I think I will ‘ave to join him from now on.” Seb’s comment was punctuated by a wistful sigh as he watched a pretty brunette drape herself over a workout bench, her prone position summoning thoughts other than fitness to his mind.

Carlos had already decided to do just that and he jumped up from his sun bed, ready to go into action.

“Come on guys, let’s join them. We really should work on our fitness more, no?” David spit out his drink at this, nearly choking on his laughter.

“Yeah, it’s your fitness you’re thinking about, amigo! But, it is a good idea … why should he have all the fun?”

Urs watched as his three colleagues walk towards him and he smiled inwardly. He had wondered how long it would take them to wander over once the girls had arrived…. This was going to be fun - they were on his territory now!

The guys’ smiles were wide and happy but they didn’t entirely hide the fact that they had no idea what to do next. Urs played out the line and waited for them to bite.

“So, my friends, you decided to join me in a workout. Are you going to stick to your usual routines?” David was the first to answer, Seb and Carlos being much too engrossed in what they do best - attracting the ladies.

“Yes - the usual … think I’ll just start on this bench and press a few weights.”

“Eh? Aren’t you going to warm up first? And Sébastien, Carlos - are you going to do ANY exercise? You know you can’t sleep if you don’t have your daily workouts.

“What … oh workouts, si!” I’ll try the running machine.” Carlos jumped athletically onto the runway and fiddled frantically with the controls until, with a jolt, the machine leaped into action … throwing him, unceremoniously off the end in an untidy heap. He wasn’t entirely sad; however, as the pretty blonde he had been laying the charm on earlier, ran to his rescue and enquired if he was hurt. He soon had her massaging an imaginary thigh injury, a blissful smile on his face.

Seb, on seeing this, quickly hatched a plan to gain a similar result. He pranced over to a machine and mounted it as though born to it. He punched the button clearly marked ‘ON’ but nothing happened. He stabbed at it a few more times, still without result. Suddenly Urs appeared at the rear of the machine and picked up the trailing plug.

“I think you’ll do better if you plug this in, my friend.” Without further ado he plugged it into the electricity supply and the beast roared into life. It jogged and bounced and poor Seb was forced to cling to the handrails for dear life as his feet were whipped from under him and he bobbed about helplessly on his knees. Finally Urs took pity on him and leaned over to switch the machine off. As he did so his eyes held those of Sébastien and glinted, maliciously, in his triumph.

“I’ll get you for that, you bastard!” The smiling Seb murmured the words to Urs, through his teeth but the Swiss had already turned away and had gone on to torment David.

David lay on his back, struggling and red-faced as he attempted to raise a heavily loaded bar, which had the appearance of being stuck to his chest.
“Tsk, tsk! You’re not doing very well there, are you David? Here, let me help you.” Displaying very little effort, he lifted the bar away from David’s grip and rested it back on the stand. He rubbed his hands together as he let his glance travel around the room … only one victim left!

He walked over to where Carlos still lay, feigning injury and looked down at him, smiling.

“Oh no, Carlos! Not the hamstring again … dear me! Well they do say that middle aged men are much more prone to that kind of injury.” As he spoke he gently took the lithe blonde by the arm, smiling into her eyes as he did so.

“Would you like to join me for a swim now ladies … as we did last night. Of course it was much more fun when we were skinny dipping then … but it would be rather public now so we’ll keep our clothes on… for now!!!”

The girls all clustered round him, giggling and together they walked out without a backward glance.


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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:44 pm

Day 8 - Central London.

The office was opulently impressive. It’s sumptuously deep red carpets and dark wood furnishings spoke volumes about the stature of the man who called it his place of work. The four members of Il Divo, however, felt at home there and it held no terrors for them. While others may fear his acid tongue, Simon Cowell was always reasonable and appreciative of their talent and they were at ease in his company.

Today they had been called to a meeting to discuss their forth-coming visit to the States. This was to be a big promotional drive and Simon was anxious to ensure that everything was being done to make it a success.
“I know I really don’t have to say it, guys but it’s imperative that you make a good impression. Your future could be dependant on it. I’m expecting you to really turn on the charm for all those presenters - whether you like them personally, or not!”

The boys looked at one another knowingly. They had grown used to this kind of pep talk and, quite frankly, they already knew how to behave but it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt Simon. Far better to let him talk and then do what they always did … their own thing!

Simon went over and over the well trodden ground of girlfriends and auditions and big smiles and funny quips. The list was seemingly endless but the guys’ patience remained intact.

Finally he was satisfied that they had all been made fully aware of the situation and he allowed them to drift out to the lunch that had been provided in another room. He, himself, was delayed by an urgent phone call and this gave the four friends some precious time to get their frustrations off their chests.

“Dang! It’s getting harder and harder to sit through these little sessions. Does he think we are idiots?” As he spoke David munched on some particularly delicious chicken. He swallowed and then licked his fingers enthusiastically, glad that, if the lectures were boring, at least the food was always top class.

Urs looked from under his lashes, in that way which demonstrated his annoyance so perfectly. “I know! He makes me feel like a two year old. My mama taught me how to speak to people politely…He doesn’t have to remind me. We all know how to behave in public. Does he think we are morons?” Carlos looked up quizzically at this last comment.

“Morons …que? … what iss that?” Carlos still struggled with some of the vernacular language that his friends used but he recognised that this must be a disparaging word from the tone with which Urs had delivered it.

“Idiots! … Stupido!” Sébastien laughed as he tried to translate the finer points of the English language, the absurdity of this not being lost on the other two, as Seb’s command of English could often be sketchy and sometimes downright hilarious.

“Ha! Well done Frenchie, I love it! You can start giving English lessons now, as well as all those French lessons which you persist in offering to every pretty girl who crosses our path.” David guffawed and Urs slapped him on the back, appreciating his joke.

“Hey! At least I am from a country that speaks a different language. What’s your excuse? ‘ow about when we were in New York and you were asking those English tourists for change for the coffee machine and you suggested that ‘is wife check ‘er fanny pack. You nearly got punched … Yankee!

And you can also shut up, Mr Perfect Swiss boy! I will never forget that recording technician last week. ‘e nearly pulled ‘is ‘air out trying to make you understand that when ‘e said to you ‘ard cheese, ‘e meant that ‘e felt sorry for you and was not offering you something to eat.”

“Laugh away, Retro but he wasn’t really speaking English … that was ‘Cock -er-nee’ … it’s a type of slang. They rhyme words sometimes, too … apples and pears means stairs. It’s all very confusing.” Urs shook his head, bemused all over again by the use of the idiom which makes every language so unique.

“Cockney is a dialect Urs, not slang. See, that’s exactly the kind of thing I worry about. If you were to say something such as that on British television you would offend lots of people and people are potential fans … and fans buy CDs!” Simon moved from his place in the doorway and approached the table as he spoke. His comments were, however, too much for Urs and he bristled angrily.

“But I would never say such a thing on TV. Sometimes you forget that we have integrity, Simon. We are always careful about what we say. Have we ever let you down.?” Simon eyed Urs warily and was about to speak when Carlos, anxious to be part of the conversation, interjected loudly.

“Si, Simon … it is not us who are the … moron … it is you!” The other three stopped moving, talking, and even breathing waiting for the storm to break.

Simon turned his gimlet gaze fully onto Carlos, whose courage was failing fast in the face of the others’ reactions.

Carlos! Do you have any idea what you are talking about?”

“Ah… No but it sounded good in my head.” Carlos’ sheepish grin was accompanied by the use of his eloquent hands which stretched into a typically Latin shrug. Simon held his gaze for a full 10 seconds or so before allowing his face to break out in a grin. He grabbed some of the chicken before heading back to his office.

“That’s okay then. Just as long as you remember to say exactly what I tell you to, you won’t make any more mistakes such as that.” As he reached the doorway he once more turned back to the four band members.

“Because it’s mistakes like that that will get you into trouble … or even fired!” His smug words were echoed by his facial expression and he turned and left the room without further comment.

Their meetings over for the day, the foursome walked back out into the sunshine and quickly became aware of excited squeals and giggles which, they noted, were coming from a group of about six women who were standing on the opposite side of the road. The boys realised that they had been spotted by some of their fans and waved happily. This was a signal for the women to rush across the road, oblivious of honking taxis and lurching motor cyclists, in search of their prey … Il Divo!

The boys stood like rabbits trapped in the headlights of a car, unable to escape until their transport arrived. There was only one thing to do … engage the charm offensive. Fortunately this group of fans appeared to be vociferous rather than violent and they all stopped as though hemmed in by an invisible fence, a few feet from the boys.

“Hello ladies. How lovely to see you.” Carlos smiled at a lovely young brunette who was standing right in front of him and her answer was to blush to the roots of her hair and giggle. Her neighbour wasn’t so shy and she leaned over, offering her hand to the handsome Spaniard.

“Hello Carlos … It’s lovely to see you too! I can’t believe that you are here. We were just wondering if you could possibly be in the Sony BMG offices … when out you all walked.”

As she spoke another of their number wordlessly held out her hand to Sébastien, who took it, smiling warmly but was alarmed when her fingers closed around his like a vice. He tried for a few seconds to quietly remove his hand but in the end he had to use his other hand to attempt to prise her off. This was the signal for her to use both of her hands to cling, like a limpet, to the object of her desire.

A rescuer was on hand, thank goodness and another of the group stepped into the scene. The older, dark haired woman made soothing noises as she gently disentangled the offending hands from Seb’s sleeves and she was rewarded by a grateful and truly warm smile from the Frenchman. She saw her chance and asked if he wouldn’t mind signing an autograph. He readily agreed and the whole group took this as a signal to produce pictures, CD covers and even assorted scraps of paper, which were then thrust at the Divo of their choice.

The boys signed whatever they could, although some of the more risqué place suggestions from a couple of the older ladies, who should have known better, were dismissed with a nervous laugh or two.

Then the cameras came out and everyone posed … the Divos with smiling good humour and the fans with triumphant pride. They would never forget this chance encounter.

Finally the pretty brunette, who Carlos had first spoken to was rewarded with a delighted kiss on the cheek when she finally plucked up the courage to speak and informed David that he was her idol and that she loved his voice the best.

Suddenly a strange wailing noise could be heard and everyone looked up trying to locate its source.

There, steaming down the street was another fan, who all the boys had cause to know. She had often turned up, both at official performances and on chance occasions such as this. It was almost as though she knew of their movements. She was their definition of a stalker and they all viewed her appearance now, with dismay. Unlike these ladies, she always went too far!

She trundled towards them, inexorably, her arms held ramrod straight in front of her. The boys hunched together, awaiting the onslaught, each surreptitiously trying to get behind one of the others, lest they should be first in her line of fire.

She screeched to a halt inches from her quarry and immediately began trying to entwine all and any of the boys in her embrace. She held her perspiring face up to them and puckered her lips distastefully. Polite they may be but they couldn’t control the involuntary recoil which her actions engendered in them.

Urs, who unfortunately found himself at the front of the huddle, shook his head whilst smiling apologetically.

“I’m sorry … I don’t do that!” His words were accompanied with another firm shake of his head, an action which the other guys all took up. Her face fell and her happy look was immediately replaced with a scowl.

“What d’ya mean … you don’t do that … I saw David kissing that girl just then … and I want one now!” She stated these words in such a mater of fact way that everyone was dumbstruck.

David started a cajoling explanation of his actions but Urs held his hand up to quieten him and simply reiterated to the woman:
“No!” His tone brooked no argument but Miss Stalker wasn’t about to give up yet. She was a large built girl who was a full 5 feet 9 ins tall and she pulled herself up to her full height aggressively, ready to take what she wanted by force, if necessary.

Without further comment, Sébastien’s earlier rescuer decided to act. Urs was her hero and she wasn’t going to stand there while this dishevelled Amazon attacked her Divo. Although she was much smaller than the aggressor she had the element of surprise on her side and she quickly supplanted Urs at the front of the group, allowing him and the other guys to distance themselves from the scene. The other girls picked up on her actions and quickly followed suit, so forming a wall between the Divos and the stalker.

“Move out of my way.” Stalker glared at Urs’ saviour in an attempt to intimidate her but the six strong group of Divo protectors stood firm.

Just then the people carrier that would take the boys back to their apartments drew up to the curb and a bemused looking Steve jumped out, viewing the scene warily. The boys rushed over to it and all of the women standing together looked longingly after them.

Suddenly Urs ran back to the group, despite Steve’s angry protestations. He artfully dodged through the girls until he was in front of his saviour and, without further ado, planted a resounding kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you!” he grinned and then ran back to the carrier, jumped in and promptly disappeared with the others, down the road.

Stalker was left to stamp her foot temperamentally before screeching in a frustrated and pleading voice after the departing vehicle.

“But you said you didn’t do that!”

But there was one very happy fan left smiling at the side of the road, vowing that she would never wash her face again.

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:49 pm

Day Nine - Rural Warwickshire - 6.30 pm

Dryden House stood in all its elegant beauty, amid the rolling green landscape of middle England. The honey-hued stone drew warmth from the early evening sunset, as it had done for centuries past; while the myriad windows glistened a welcome which spoke of the care and comfort that was to be found inside. Unfortunately while it’s glamorous past had been filled with grand balls and hunting parties, financial restraints on it’s owner had now necessitated it’s metamorphosis into a luxurious hotel.

The black people carrier drew to a halt at the point where the sweeping drive met the regal columns of the entrance and the four members of Il Divo were disgorged from it’s cavernous interior. Their Armani clad frames immediately presented the correct impression … they were a fitting adornment for this exquisite setting.

Eyes turned and hands were raised to hide muted whispers as the guys made their entrance. A few female hearts fluttered as they wondered, like so many unwary ladies before them, who these handsome, smiling men could be…

The perfect scene was set … but who would be the first to bring it crashing down?

“Jeez … why is everything so old in this dang country? And the rest of Europe is worse. Oh, how I long for some chrome and glass.” David’s garish comment was actually meant as a foil to the other three’s superiority about the history of their homelands but it caused gasps from an elderly English couple sitting on a nearby settee, who were elegantly sipping their gin and tonics before proceeding to dinner.

“Philistine!” hissed Urs through his teeth, always careful of other people’s sensibilities. But he couldn’t quite hide the merriment that danced in his eyes, at the prospect of once more goading David about his perceived lack of heritage.

“You have history too!! Acshully, that shopping mall we appeared in last week, in Houston, had been standing there for over … ermm, let me see … ten years!”

“Don’t start, cheese man … go back to your cuckoo clocks and chocolate! At least my country makes things and has given the developing world new innovations. What have the Swiss given us … muesli?” David’s barbed retort was forced though clenched teeth as he attempted to smile at the people whose feathers he had so recently ruffled.

“Well, it’s better for you than McDonald’s - the American idea of fine dining!” The well-worked banter continued as the combatants moved towards the reception desk. Sébastien and Carlos simply raised their eyebrows as though showing their displeasure at over-exuberant children.

The four were soon booked into the hotel and shown to their very pleasant rooms. They had come to this delightful country retreat to meet a pair of songwriters who had some new and interesting material for their forth-coming album and, once they had unpacked their luggage they were called to the dinner meeting which they all hoped would prove very fruitful.

The hotel had an enviable culinary reputation and dinner was a sumptuous affair, which everyone present relished. In addition, the boys liked what they were hearing from the song writers and a further meeting, at their nearby studios, was set up for later in the week.

Once business was over the four friends had some time to relax so they decided to change into less restrictive clothing and meet back down in the bar, where some communal letting down of proverbial hair could ensue. The hotel cellar was impressive and they had every intention of enjoying a few more fine vintages before bedtime.

Soon the wine was flowing and they settled down to their usual style of laid-back fun. Carlos was a little sulky as his favourite pastime of charming pretty girls was suffering from a distinct lack of material tonight but he soon joined the others in reminiscences of their time together. Their laughter grew raucous as they remembered such events as Las Vegas and Australia, each band member sparing no effort to deflect the tales away from their own mishaps and onto one of the others.

Evening gave way to night, which gave way to early morning but the guys showed no sign of letting up. By this time the bar was sparsely populated but there was a group of about eight men who appeared to be bent on the same course of action as the boys… the cellar was receiving a huge dent in it’s stock levels tonight! Ribald chatter flowed from the two groups, each occasionally attracting the others’ attention.

Seb unsteadily rose to his feet and waved energetically in an effort to attract the barman’s attention. The action only resulted in disturbing the collection of empties, which were ranged on their table, sending them tumbling in all directions. This was met by screams of derisory laughter from the other group. Seb, still smiling, moved to smooth the scene.

“Ah! Excuse moi, mes amies! I ‘ave ‘ad a little too much vino … I will pick them up.”

“Awww! Ooh lala! … s’alright, Frenchie … We English know you foreigners can’t hold your booze!”

The four Divos simultaneously responded to this … they sniffed the unmistakable scent of a challenge!

“Well don’t you worry your little heads about us. We ‘Johnnie Foreigners’ can look after ourselves in that department.” David’s smile was shark-like and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated his quarry.

Furtive looks passed between the two groups of men as each sized up the other. Their macho pride was at stake and they could not fail now!

“Ahem! Two more bottles of this my good man … and take a bottle over to their table, will ya?” The order was made by a tall, gangling man with a face reminiscent of a bulldog chewing a wasp. When the wine arrived Urs coolly examined a bottle before directing a dismissive shrug to his comrades.

“And could you bring us three more bottles of the Shiraz we were just enjoying please.” When this wine also arrived Urs sauntered over to the others’ table and banged two bottles down, displaying no more expression than a raised eyebrow.

“Thanks very much, Frenchie.” The rushed, sniggering comment was spoken by an insipid little man who was obviously feeling buoyed up by the wine and the numbers of his friends. Urs halted his retreat and turned to face the man.

“I’m Swiss, acshully! And you really should learn the difference or you might end up hurting someone’s feelings.” The suave delivery of his words did nothing to allay their implied threat and the little man quickly shrank back into the safety of his friends’ protection.

The drinking then began in earnest as all present took it in turns to down the revered vintages as though they were cheap plonk. One by one the numbers dwindled as grown men, who really should have known better, drank themselves into oblivion. Finally just two combatants faced one another across the room. In the one corner sat the archetypal British gent, wavering precariously but still unbowed and in the other corner sat … Sébastien.

“I don’t get it … You were falling down drunk an hour ago. How in God’s name are you still upright?” The Englishman looked at Seb through his drink fuddled eyes and tried to work out how he was remaining in his chair.

“Hehehe! I ‘ave ‘ad lots of practise monsieur.” Seb’s smile was genuine … he loved everyone when he was drunk so the world looked wonderful to him right now.

“Shall we call this a night, then or do you want to continue? Or we could always start again tomorrow.” Seb’s accompanying nodding head was reminiscent of those little figurines that adorn parcel shelves in cars.

“Tomorrow … what a good idea! We could have another competition and I know just what we’ll do, old boy!” He staggered over to Seb and whispered in his ear at which the Frenchman clapped his hands in glee.

“Oui, oui - brilliant! We will meet you in the grounds tomorrow at noon, then … don’t be late.”

………….

David blundered around his room, desperately seeking the painkillers he required but he could find no relief. Carlos fared no better, he simply sat on the bed holding his head as though it was a precious piece of Venetian glass. They reluctantly went to join the others in the hope that they could provide some end to their torment.

Urs opened the door and David saw the same pink veined eyes that the mirror had earlier reflected back at him. In addition, they were being nicely set off by the interesting green/grey tinge to his complexion. He beckoned them in without speaking and the three sat forlornly around the room, each lost in their individual ‘never again’ moments.

Amid a burst of song which caused the others to wince spectacularly, Sébastien breezed into the room and smiled broadly at his companions.

“Cheer up, mes amies! I have zee cure for you.” As he spoke he doled out Alka Seltzer to them all and placed a jug of water and glasses on the table in front of them.

“Aww, it’s so unfair … you drink the most but you never feel ill.” David moaned on to himself but took the remedy, as did the others.

“I am just lucky. It does not affect me the way it affects you. I feel so hungry are you lot nearly ready for a nice big cooked breakfast?” The last words of his sentence were drowned out by the sound of Urs’ timely dive into the bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later at least he looked a better colour. The three ailing Divos decided to accompany Sébastien to breakfast but they merely picked at the delicious food on offer, while Seb gorged on a hearty breakfast.

“Come on eat … it will make you feel better, really! You need your strength for the competition to come.”

Silence …

“What competition Sébastien? … Oh no! I’m not drinking with those limeys again you can rule me out.” The others agreed with David. Alcohol was a banned substance, at least for the moment, as far as they were concerned.

“Non! Do not worry. We won’t be drinking. We’ll be getting lots of fresh air and exercise. Urs, you’ll love it!” He had addressed this last comment to the one person who he felt sure would be pleased at the news but Urs’ sour expression caused him to think again. “Non. Don’t frown. It will be fun … and we can beat those English once and for good … is that right … no matter? We will win!” Seb danced up and away from the table and the others followed in his wake. He was obviously very pleased with what he was proposing.

“What will we win Sébastien? What on earth are you going on about?” Urs was puzzled but, in spite of his sore head, he felt the first thrill of competition. Now he needed to know more about the nature of that competition before committing himself to anything rash. “Right! Tell me what you are going on about … and stand still! You’re making me feel sick again with all this spinning around.”

“Follow me and I will do better than tell you … I will show you.” As he finished he whirled off into the hotel grounds and the others, in spite of their sore heads and queasy stomachs followed dutifully along, their interest well and truly held by the Frenchman’s infectious good humour.

As they rounded the side of the building they came to a fenced in area of woodland. Here stood some military looking men who were obviously waiting to instruct people in the use of the area.

“What in God’s name is this?” said a weary David, already taking note of the sinking feeling which was bombarding his brain as he spoke.

“This is … paint war!” A triumphant Sébastien looked from one to another of his friends, expecting their mutual delight to break out but he was sadly disappointed.

“What iss paint war? Ah! My head hurts too much for this. I am going back to bed!”

“Non, non! You cannot go back to bed Carlos … we will lose the challenge. Anyway, it will be fun. We get to shoot at the others … with paint … not bullets.” Urs lifted his head from his shoes, a dawning recognition showing on his face.

“Hey! I’ve done this before, a couple of years ago when I did my annual military training but then a full battalion was involved, not a few half-drunken men. It is quite fun, acshully.”

“Huh! Boys with toys! I get it. We shoot them, they shoot us … but how do we win?” David was slowly warming to the idea but he needed more information.

“By capturing the other’s flag … apparently. Oh, don’t worry, they will tell us what to do.”

Just at that moment they were joined by four of the English men. They looked in a roughly similar condition to Urs, David and Carlos so at least the playing field would be even. After instructions all the combatants were given thick khaki overalls to wear and a padded jerkin which not only gave protection to their vital organs but also to those parts of a man’s anatomy which they always seek to protect most fiercely.

Then they were all introduced to the weapons and told where they were allowed to shoot and where not … head shots, the Divos were all relieved to hear were not allowed and any transgressors of this rule would be automatically disqualified.

Finally they were ready to enter the combat zone. They donned goggles and the teams were each given a colour - the Divos chose red, the English gents chose blue and their guns were loaded with the appropriate colour paint. … the battle was on!

The teams each had an HQ position to protect and the game was won when a member of one team was able to capture the flag from the others’ HQ. However, if you were shot during the battle you were eliminated, giving a ‘last man standing’ element to the game. The men now fanned out over the area and prepared for the coming struggle. At least the whole scenario had taken their minds off their hangovers and they were all eager to join in the fray.

As they nervously waited for the opening claxon to sound Carlos leaned across to David and asked a very pertinent question.
“Amigo, if we are only shooting with the paint … why do we need all the padding?” David’s eyes followed Carlos’ hands as they outlined his torso and then he shrugged his shoulders nervously.

“Hmmm! I think we may be about to find out! Lord help us!”

A deafening noise rent the air and men simultaneously began shouting and darting about. Whilst David and Carlos had been detailed to defend the Red’s flag, Urs’ and Sébastien’s jobs were to find a way through the opposition lines without being ‘killed’.

Guns were being fired wildly in all directions and more than once the game had to be interrupted by the judges to reinforce the rules but, eventually, it settled down and strategy came into play.

Now Urs’ military training came into play and he was able to direct Seb into out-manoeuvring a member of the blue team and then shooting him out of the game. The odds were swinging their way. But Sébastien celebrated too long and was unaware of the red team member closing in on him until it was too late … he was ‘dead’. His face fell and he trudged off to the holding zone where ‘bodies’ had to wait ‘til the end of the fun. Al least Urs had been able to get his attacker so the odds were still three to two in their favour.

Now they were able to be more attacking and David left Carlos to hold the fort while he probed the opposition’s defences along with Urs.

Slowly they closed in on the wooden shack which held the blue flag aloft. Urs was enjoying himself hugely, crawling along on his belly and gesturing wildly to get David to do what he wanted. Unfortunately, David had never been too good at doing as he was told and he thought he saw an opportunity to move in.

“No, David … stay down!” Urs could see the hidden blue team member which David couldn’t and he had no option but to break into the clearing to protect him … but while he could see David’s would-be attacker … he didn’t see his own demise in the trees above him, as the little man who had been so intimidated by him the previous evening saw his chance to get his own back on ‘Johnny foreigner’. Urs could almost hear the ‘Last Post’ playing as two splodges of blue stained his khaki clothing.

“Ouch, owww!!” was all that could be heard as the pain shot through his body. ‘Sh*t’ he wondered ‘why had he forgotten how much these damn things stung!’

He was at least gratified to see before he left that his nemesis had celebrated too wildly and had fallen out of the tree. Unfortunately though, his fall was broken by our erstwhile American. The Englishman came to his senses first and David was no more.


So now it was Carlos alone against two. He knew that he could merely stay where he was and defend his position but then they would probably outflank him and the Reds would lose.

‘I am a brave Spaniard!’ he mused. ‘I don’t wait around to be shot’ Gathering himself up he broke at speed into the wooded area between the two camps. He hoped the element of surprise would carry the day as he dodged between trees and shrubs. Suddenly the blue camp rose before him but between him and the flag danced the two triumphant Englishmen. He watched for a second as they celebrated, oblivious to the game and decided to … GO!

They turned, nonplussed by these sudden events and then began shooting wildly at the fleeing Spaniard but their aim was unsteadied by drink or fatigue and they missed … In the blink of an eye Carlos grabbed and held aloft the Blue flag and waved it deliriously. The claxon sounded once more to end the game and the others ran to their jubilant comrade. They lifted him into the air and jigged around with him wildly, all earlier discomforts forgotten.

The Blue team came over, reluctant congratulations spilling from their lips.

“Okay! Well done, chaps … looks like lunch is on us… and perhaps a few more bottles of that excellent Shiraz… what d’ya say?” He was surprised to see the communal shaking of heads of three of his opponents. Only the Frenchman seemed to like the idea.

As the Four friends walked towards the exit gate they chatted excitedly about their win. Each claimed the importance of their part in the strategy but Carlos dismissed them all with a wave of his hand

“Amigos! I didn’t need you … I should have just run through the whole lot of them at the beginning and I could be in a hot bath now. This is my finest hour.” His words tailed off as he realised that he had probably overstepped the mark a tad as three guns were levelled at his body.

“Well you’d better run now, pal!” Carlos didn’t need David to tell him twice and he sprinted away from the group but his friends had much truer aims that his earlier opponents and he howled in pain as three stinging pellets simultaneously exploded in the delicate rounded contours of his rear. But the pain could not entirely blot out his feeling of triumph … he had won the day!

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:50 pm

Day 11 - New York - 2.30 pm.

The people carrier drew up before the impressive theatre which was the venue for that night's concert. During this world tour they had performed in many locations of all sizes and conditions. Some had fabulous acoustics, some didn't. Some were sleek monuments to modern architecture, constructed of glass and steel whilst others almost rang with the echoes still, of long dead musical greats. Each city brought its challenges and its inspirations and the boys revelled in this diversity.

They tumbled out of the vehicle, excited and playful today. They were
reasonably well rested for a change, having had the whole day off yesterday
to explore, shop, or simply sleep and now they were ready to take on their
next audience. Whilst all had been performers before their Divo days,
nothing had prepared them for the exquisite pleasure of performing for so
many dedicated fans each night. They revelled in the adulation, even ready
to forgive the occasional inappropriate action from an over-exuberant fan or
two.

They entered the theatre via the stage door and walked through the
labyrinthine corridors and back stage areas to gain access to the stage in
order to do their sound check.

'Wheeeeyar!' David expelled the air from his lungs in a slow, appreciative
whistle as his eyes roamed hungrily over the empty rows of seats and boxes.
It was a huge, modern theatre and he didn't have to try too hard to imagine
it draped with thousands of screaming and cheering fans. 'Tonight's gonna
be good, mis amigos!'

'Every night is good. We haven't had a bad experience yet.' Urs had joined
him in surveying the empty auditorium. 'I wonder if we'll get to know the
faces of the front row divas here in America the way we did in Europe? Some
of those women must have spent a small fortune on tickets.'

'Yeah! How can we forget the Australian who was always flanked by those two crazy English girls? All your fans, I believe.' David allowed himself a
wry shake of his head as he saw Urs' smiling but dismissive shrug of his
shoulders at this comment. 'I was beginning to think that they were part of
our entourage, especially when they were also to be found in the same hotels as us each night. Thank God they turned out to be harmless. We had some laughs with them in some of those bars, didn't we?'

'Ja, they were nice girls, not butt grabbers or 'desperate housewives' -
well, maybe a little desperate after one drink too many but, mostly, they
behaved. I wonder who we'll get to know here?'

The other two joined them, reminiscing about past nights and speculating on nights yet to come. The heady and exhilarating whirl of these events held them all in its thrall.

Soon the sound engineer signalled that he was ready to begin and the guys
took up their usual positions. All went as it should. This state of the art
theatre, had been designed well and the mix of their voices, which had
enthralled fans all over the world, drifted up into the rafters, each
sublime note bouncing off myriad points throughout the hall.

Once the sound was adjudged to be right they moved onto the lights and they were soon into their routine of who speaks when etc. As they got to Seb's part, no one saw the surreptitious little wink which Carlos threw to the man on the spotlight. Sébastien always worried that he wouldn't be in the right place at the right time when he was on stage and he had consequently worked out an elaborate system of steps and directions, rather like a dance lesson.
He moved towards the front of the stage and waited for the spot to find him
but it landed a few inches to his left. He shuffled, uncomfortably towards
it, only for it to move to his original starting position. And so it
continued to move for a few agonising moments which seemed to him like
hours. Patiently he followed the light round an area no more than a foot
square. He never quite managed to catch up with it - it was always one step
ahead.

Eventually he threw his hands to the sky and bellowed his annoyance.

'Merde! What are you doing? Keep it still!'

He threw an angry stare in the direction of the spotlight operator, ready
for an argument but the only response he received was the collective giggles from the assembled men behind him. He closed his eyes and shook his head before turning to see them all enacting their version of his impromptu square dance, moving in unison in the manner of one of those singing groups from the sixties.

'Oh! The ladies will love that Sébastien. The new Bambi Boogie? You are
such a lovely mover.' Carlos almost fell over with mirth as he laughed at
his own joke but Seb was ready with his answer.

'When one 'as two left feet such as you, it is wise to keep quiet about
another's dancing skills, no? Now if you will tell the man up there to
follow the plan I gave him we might get out of 'ere before tonight!' Carlos
immediately stopped laughing. It was a little known fact that Carlos loved
to dance but that dancing didn't love Carlos.

The focus of the others' glee quickly moved on to the now scowling Spaniard.
'Madre de Dios! I am zee good mover. Why do you say I am not?' He quickly executed an intricate little tango movement to an accompanying howl of hilarity from the others. 'Ah! Buffoons! You have no idea what you say!'

He dismissed them with the rudest international gesture he could think of
before stomping into the wings of the theatre to sulk.

'Should we take pity on him? We can't have an unhappy Divo tonight.' Urs voice still betrayed the humour he felt but he tried to regain control in an effort to get the others back on track.

David laughed heartily before walking over to Carlos and enveloping him in
one of his huge bear hugs. No one could stay mad for long when he did this. His natural joie de vivre always cajoled the others into sharing his mood.

Carlos' puffed out chest deflated like a popped balloon and he put his head
on David's shoulder, a not inconsiderable feat, given the height difference.
Soon his shoulders started to shake with his own laughter and his
forgiveness was obvious for all to see. Finally they were ready to be
professionals again and the rest of the checks were completed quickly before the boys left for a few hours rest before the concert.

All too soon the hours slipped away and it was time to begin the concert.
They were all hyped up. The first concert in the USA was a big event and
they wanted to give of their best. They stood in the wings as the orchestra
played the introduction to Regresa. 'Armani'd' up to the eyeballs, they
looked good, now they had to sing as only they could.

Urs lead them out onto the stage as was his custom and they took up their usual positions. Their voices each delivered their plaintive opening parts to the song before blending seamlessly into the towering crescendo which always drove their fans wild.

Applause was deafening and various ladies declared their undying love to the Divo of their heart. The spotlight turned into the audience and skipped
around the happy faces. The boys watched it happily, waving to fans as they were picked up in its glow.
Urs looked down as it slid along the front row and was astonished to see the divas of whom he had been speaking earlier.
They had even followed them to America! That was dedication. He couldn't
resist blowing them a little kiss, which they received delightedly.

The concert was a triumph and they were reluctant to leave the stage but all
too soon it was over and Divos and Divas left the theatre to wend their
ecstatic way home.

Once back at the hotel they showered and changed before meeting up for their customary late night wind-down.

The hotel bar was packed but they managed to find a secluded table where
they could relax and enjoy a few glasses of good wine. Suddenly David
grabbed Urs' arm.

'Look man! You're groupies are here. They've followed you to America. Boy they must really love you. '
'They love all of us and they are nice ladies so don't call them groupies.'

Urs' words hid the fact that these fans equally fascinated him and he watched them quietly.

Suddenly they were approached by a group of men who looked to be on the
pull. They spoke to the attractive Australian, obviously keen to make her
acquaintance. Urs leaned in to hear the conversation. He was curious to
know if they were only interested in the group or if they were happy to
receive the attentions of other men. A large, mid forties man with unruly
ginger hair, pressed home his point,

'Gee darlin'. When I was nineteen, I had an affair with an Alabama woman who looked just like you. She was thirty and she taught me everything I know. Don't suppose you'd be interested in going over a few of those things with me, would ya?

'The Blonde raked the man with a withering gaze before answering his
question.

"Well Gee, 'darlin'. When I was that age it's true that I only
went out with younger men. I didn't go out with Forty something year olds
then, and I'm not about to start now. Sorry!' She turned her back to him
dismissing him from her presence and accepted the sniggered congratulations from her friends. The rejected guys sloped off, ready to try their luck with someone of a more amenable disposition and the girls continued as before.

Urs caught their eye and raised his glass to them. They were more than
happy to reciprocate this gesture and they all smiled happily. He loved
smart, sassy women and he was glad that these dedicated fans, at least, were more than able to hold their own in such a situation.

As the evening wore on into the small hours the two parties found themselves alone in the bar and started to chat as they had done on quite a few occasions before. Urs laughingly mentioned the earlier incident and
expressed his satisfaction that the man had been sent back to his wife and
kids with his tail between his legs. The ladies threw back their heads and
laughed and the final word about it went to the Australian.

'Good God! - What a country this is! You mean to tell me that it is legal
here to have hair like his and still be allowed to reproduce. I will never
understand Americans, except you, of course, David!' David raised his
glass to her. 'To the US of A and all the lovely people ... and oddballs it
contains.'

'I'll drink to that! - As if I need an excuse.' She drained her glass and
summoned the waiter to bring another round of drinks for everyone.

'No. Let me get these. You ladies have obviously spent more than enough
money on us already. I couldn't believe it when I saw you in the audience
tonight.' Urs paid the waiter before continuing. 'So, tell us. Why do you
do it?? Aren't you bored with hearing the same songs time and again?' His
question was genuine, he wasn't looking for compliments and one of the
English ladies tried to answer it.

'We don't know why we do it, you lovely man. We just do! If you knew how
many hours of discussion have been spent on that forum, trying to dissect
why we love you the way we do you would be flabbergasted. The best I can
tell you is that everyone says that the music sucked us in and now we are
hopelessly lost.

''But don't you have husbands at home who object?' His curiosity was increasing and he was glad to have the chance to finally ask one of the forum ladies these questions.

'Some of us do and some of us
don't. Some have husbands who are only too glad to see the back of us!
Some of us have no one.' Her eyes displayed a tiny inward frown before almost instantly resuming their usual smile. 'But all of us just love what you do and we want to be a part of it. It's as simple as that'

The final word was, however, once again left to the sassy Aussie who, with a
twinkle in her eye, added the last line. 'Anyway - you're always surrounded
by young men. That works for me!' The four Divos laughed at the
incongruity of this not so 'desperate housewife' expressing the view that she was only here for the younger men in their entourage. With her usual disarming frankness she was telling them that actually they were too old for her.
They liked that!

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PostSubject: Re: Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:52 pm

Day 12 - Somewhere in the depths of Deepest, Darkest Ireland.

The sleek bus trundled it way along the now deserted road which threaded its way down through rural Ireland. Inside its inhabitants kicked back and enjoyed the peace after the frantic adventure which had been their first Britain and Ireland tour date. The US and Australian dates had been a blast, a magical roller coaster of stretched nerves and wonderful receptions but nothing had prepared them for this first ‘home’ venue. It soon became obvious just how much their army of dedicated fans adored them when they realised exactly how many had travelled from mainland UK and even Northern Europe to witness the event for which they had been longing for almost eighteen months… their first full concert.

The bus itself had been a surprise for them and it was apparent that there were mixed feelings about it within the group. Carlos was a little put out.

‘We have to travel in thees bus? Why? Are there no airplanes in this country?’ David, on the other hand was delighted and he bounced onto the vehicle with boyish glee.

‘Jeez! This will be like camping. My dad had a trailer when I was a kid and the whole family used to pile into it and we’d head it up into the mountains. I’m gonna love this!’ He flopped down onto a convenient and very comfy looking couch, apparently now completely at home!

Sébastien and Urs said little. Both had experienced travelling in this manner before and had good and bad memories of their experiences but this bus certainly seemed to be almost extravagantly equipped so they were happy to go along with it and see what happened.

Now they were all tired. The adrenalin-fuelled rush of earlier had given way to a drowsy calm and they all lounged around, ready for sleep but not quite ready to let go of the feelings of excitement which tonight’s concert and unbelievable fan reception had given them. They swapped stories of times gone by when they had been on the road with opera companies, or rock bands, or pop tours. The anecdotes flew back and forth as each man tried to outdo the previous storyteller.

‘I remember one time when we ‘ad to drive through Germany overnight. Our bus wasn’t quite as nice as this … as a matter of fact it was falling to pieces! We ended up ‘aving to push the damn thing for over ten miles until we reached a garage. Then we ‘ad to knock the owner awake to ‘elp us … ‘e wasn’t very ‘appy! But ‘is daughter was very …’elpful, as I remember!’ The others laughed as they pictured Sébastien charming some poor girl, much to the annoyance of her father, no doubt.

‘Ah yes - you can always rely on there being some convenient woman around, thank God!. I would have died of boredom years ago but for all those lovely laydeez scattered all around the world who have been kind to me.’ The others didn’t have to wait for more words, they instantly knew what he meant by kind when they saw the lascivious leer and raised eyebrow which accompanied this comment and they all smiled as their resident Latin lover began ticking off a list of accommodating females and their locations, on his fingers.

Eventually Urs held up his hand in a gesture of pleading. ‘Enough Carlos! Have you left any women anywhere for anyone else?’

‘One or two, my friend, one or two. … the ugly ones!’ A well aimed magazine, expertly thrown by David, hit Carlos squarely in the midriff and he coughed theatrically.

‘Hey - don’t damage me! I am a finely tuned machine and I need to be treated with care.’

‘Finely tuned machine? Yeah right! If you don’t lay off the chocolate and carbs you’ll be in danger of breaking down, my friend … or losing your touch with the laydeez.’ David’s flippant comment drew gasps from the others. Carlos was very touchy about his figure.

‘Madre de Dios! You say that I am getting fat?’ He jumped to his feet and struck a pose which he considered to exemplify a fit young man. ‘Where am I fat, hamburger boy?’ He placed his hands on his hips and glared at the now giggling David who held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

‘I didn’t say you were fat, I just mentioned that all that chocolate and rice and potatoes you love will cause you problems if you’re not careful.’ He tried a look of innocence but Carlos wasn’t fooled.

‘Idiot! I am twice the man you will ever be!’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying Amigo! … too many carbs!’

By now Seb and Urs were laughing like schoolboys, causing Carlos to include them in his glare. Everyone was so preoccupied they didn’t realise that the bus had come to a standstill until Steve came walking through from where he had been sat with the driver.

‘You alright lads? There seems to be a lot of hilarity going on round here. Can you share it with me and the driver … ‘cos we’re lost!’

The foursome stopped abruptly and looked at Steve.

‘Lost? What do you mean? Can’t you ask someone?’ Urs peered out of the window as he spoke, as though trying to identify a well known landmark. His eyes were met with a few trees and fields … and sheep.

‘Sorry, I don’t speak sheep and you’d think I was baaa-my if I did!’ Steve paused for the groans at his pun to subside. ‘We haven’t seen a single bloody living person for almost half an hour. Anyway we’re going to carry on along this road and pray that we find a signpost or some sign of life … before we fall of the edge of this island, right into the Irish sea. Keep a look out will you fellas? We need all the help we can get!’ He returned to the driver’s cab and they were soon travelling along the bumpy road, all the Divos now watchful for anything that could be helpful.

Suddenly David noticed a small group of lights off to the left of the road and partially concealed by a nearby hill. ‘Stop, Steve … over there! It looks like a village or something … definitely life of some sort.’ Steve checked out where he was pointing and then told the driver to head towards it. A tiny side road then became visible and the bus carefully made the tight turn, so that it could head in the direction of the lights.

They pulled up in a street which was lined with a few ramshackle buildings, at the centre of which was a brightly lit hub of activity , despite the late hour… the village pub!

‘Hey! This looks like fun. Let’s all go in and meet the locals.’ David’s enthusiasm was echoed by the others, who were all glad of the opportunity to stretch their legs, whatever the reason. Music, chat and laughter poured from the open doorway and the four guys, Steve and the driver all piled into the smoke filled pub, hoping to join in the fun.

They were met by a sudden wall of silence. Every eye in the place turned to survey the newcomers. It was very obvious that they weren’t used to visitors round here.

‘Howdy everybody!’ David accompanied his greeting with a huge smile but this was met only by stony faces and more deafening quiet. The guys began to look round uneasily. They had obviously interrupted something here.

Eventually a wizened old man who looked as though he had seen it all and more, stepped out of the crowd and approached the group of interlopers.

‘Dia dhuit!’ (Hello!) The tour party was dumbfounded. Whatever this guy had just said to them wasn’t in any language they had ever heard before and between them they covered a fair few. They didn’t know whether he had offered them a greeting or had sworn at them and his face betrayed nothing of his intentions. They looked at one another, unsure of what to say or do. Steve stepped forward and held his hand out and the old man shook it gingerly.

‘An bhfuil bodhar sibh ná amadain?’ (Are you deaf or idiots?) He said this with a smile and the whole crowd sniggered, now visibly relaxing.

Steve scratched his head and smiled. ‘I haven’t got a friggin’ clue what you’re saying mate but … Hello!’

‘Conas atá tú?’ (How are you?) This could have gone on all night but for the interception of a genial, plump lady who walked around the bar and pushed the old man playfully in the chest

‘Ah! Stop that Paddy. Show these lovely people a proper Irish welcome.’ The boys visibly relaxed, glad to hear a voice they could understand and they turned grateful faces to her.

‘Cead Míle Fáilte!’ (100,000 welcomes!) Oh God she was at it now. Urs lifted his hands out to the side in a gesture of non-understanding. ‘Come in, come in, make yourself at home. ‘Enjoy the Craic!’ Although she had swiftly switched back to English this last word was pronounced as ‘crack’ and Sébastien looked askance at David.

‘What did she say, …Crack? … is she offering us drugs? Fortunately Steve overheard him and hissed quietly.

‘Don’t be stupid. Crack means fun in Irish. Now shut up before you offend someone.’ He kept a tight smile on his face all the while lest he hurt the landlady’s feelings.

She drew the group of travellers into the midst of the gathered crowd and bade them sit down. This was a signal for everyone to crowd round them, laughing, talking and shaking hands all at once. It was a very touching welcome and the boys were delighted by it. Creamy headed pints of Guinness were thrust into each of their hands and they each drank gratefully. As the unfamiliar flavour of the dark porter hit their taste buds their eyes widened, but to their surprise they liked it and Steve, familiar with the long drawn out process of pulling the perfect pint called for another round to be drawn so that it would be ready for them by the time they had finished these ones.

Two lwomen had come back into the room from the ladies. They saw the commotion and, with a piercing scream, one of the ladies threw herself across the room and landed at Sébastien’s feet.

‘An bhfuil tú Sébastien Izambard? Tá grá mhor agam duit.’ (Are you Sébastien Izambard? I love you.)

Sébastien smiled sweetly, despite the woman grasping his hand as though she was about to propose to him. The other lady had stopped in her tracks and was a little more reserved, preferring to just grab her chest and sigh loudly as she ran her gaze from one to the other of the boys, hungrily. Although they still couldn’t understand the language these international symbols of swooning fans were plain for all to see and the guys went into their usual smiling routine.

‘Hello ladies … you recognised us. How sweet.’ David was his usual charming self and both girls turned to face him. Thankfully the quieter one spoke in English.

‘Jasus, of course we recognised you … we love you! We’ve just been up to Dublin for your concert. Ah it was grand!’

‘Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ Throughout this conversation Seb still had a determined female hanging on to his hand for grim death. The others found this amusing and started to snigger at Seb’s obvious discomfort. The language barrier made it even more difficult to deal with than normal but eventually the landlady came to his aid and gently removed the star struck woman.

‘Merci!’ I didn’t know what to do … I was ‘elpless!’ His grateful smile was very well received - now she could understand why her friends were always going on about these boys. They were gorgeous!

All around them people were chattering at once. Some spoke in English and the boys did their best to answer their questions and told them how they had got lost.

‘Well we wondered … not many people come here.’ A tall jovial man went on: We thought you might be the gárdaí (police), after the poitín (Irish moonshine). That’s why we were so offhand. We usually know how to welcome people here. Urs looked at Steve, seeking an explanation of this statement but Steve shook his head, indicating that now was not the time or the place.

Urs suddenly became aware of someone sitting very close to his side and he looked down into the wrinkled face of an extremely old woman. She was gazing up at him, her eyes twinkling with merriment. He smiled warmly and was surprised when she grasped his cheek in her gnarled fingers and pinched the flesh hard.
‘Ah!’ was all he said. He had no idea what to do.

‘Cad is ainm duit?’ (What is your name?) The landlady leaned forward and explained that she was asking his name.

‘Urs.’ He lengthened the vowel sound as he preferred it and she repeated it after him.

‘Urs … An bpósfaidh tú mé Urs?’ (Urs ...Will you marry me Urs?) The whole place erupted as everyone realised what she had just said. Urs and the others were the only ones not saying anything. They had no idea what was going on. Once more the landlady explained and even Urs had to smile at the bravado of his suitor. She laughed like a young girl at this.
‘Póg mé Urs!’ (Kiss me Urs!) She was enjoying playing to her audience and once the translation was received she clapped her hands delightedly as a very solemn Urs leaned over and gently kissed the top of her head, to the cheers of the crowd.

In the next hour drinks were raised to the cheers of ‘Sláinte’ which literally translates to ‘Good health to you’ and the boys felt happy and comfortable as these lovely people made them feel at home. But eventually they realised that they would have to take their leave if they ever wanted to continue their tour. Everyone began exclaiming as though they were about to lose members of their family but reluctantly they had to let them go after safely directing them towards the correct road.

David had been chatting at length with a pleasant, red faced man and he shook his hand as he rose to leave. He gestured towards David as the guys reached the door and with a sweeping bow Davey turned to the crowd, smiled and delivered his goodbye in their own language,

‘Póg mo Thóin!’

A collective gasp rose from the whole pub but this was quickly replaced by gales of laughter. The travellers look bemused once more and turned to their would be interpreter. Between laughs she tearfully explained.

‘Davey me darlin’, you’ve just asked us all to ‘Kiss your arse! You’d better leave quickly before some of these girls try to take you up on that offer!' David turned to his new friend who was beside himself with mirth, glad that his joke had gone so well, Jasus but he loved teasing Yanks! A small smile crossed his lips before David shook his fist and walked out into the soft Irish night after the others.

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Diary Of A Supergroup. By: MoeD
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