Beavis & Brennan Find Bono's House (Ireland, Part 2)

When we last left our heroes, they had found themselves smack dab in the driveway of one "Bono" of the Irish rock group U2.

Scott and I surveyed the surroundings. Not a very big place at all, not the rock star palace  you might expect, but still very, very "cool". Essentially, this house looked to be a converted lighthouse about 30 feet high, overlooking the sea. There was a classic old Mercedes in the driveway, parked next to a Volkswagen Cabriolet. (Remember, this was the 80's afterall!) We noticed a young blond lady hanging clothes on a clothesline in a grass area behind the house. For some reason, the odd thought that Bono needed to have someone hanging clothes on a clothesline did not seem weird to us. (Maybe Ireland had not heard of the clothes dryer yet?)

After surveying the house, and being a bit flummoxed as to what to do next, we did what we thought was the right thing to do:  We took our cameras out and started taking pictures. We took pictures of the house, the Mercedes, the driveway ... just two 18-year-old American dorks taking pictures of a rock star's lighthouse.

Just then, an attractive brown-haired woman comes walking out the front door. Scott and I are stunned, and do not really know what to do, so we simply stand there in the driveway and watch her. She notices us right away and comes over to us with a slight smile on her face.

"Can I help you?" she asks politely in a lovely Irish lilt.

As one might expect, Scott and I have no idea what to say. We instantly have become Beavis and Butthead. We look at each other, and then I decide I better say something.

"Well...umm...uhh..I heard this was where Bono lives..."

The pretty brown-haired woman smiles and politely says, "Oh no, he doesn't. But I am afraid I do have to ask you to step off the property. It is private property."

Fair enough. This was too easy to be true, we think to ourselves. Scott and I shrug our shoulders and head back down the path towards the road. On our way down, we see the pretty brown-haired woman drive past us in the Cabriolet. She even smiles and waves at us as she passes.

When we get to the road, we encounter an elderly couple strolling by.

"Did you meet him?" the man asks us.

"Meet who?"

"Bono."

Scott and I look at each other, puzzled.

"The lady we talked to said that wasn't his house."

"Oh, he's in there. They will never tell you he's in there."

Scott and I are now stunned.

"Who did you boys talk to up there?"

"The pretty lady with the brown hair," we offer.

"That's his wife."

We had just been kicked off Bono's property by his wife. This story was getting better and better. Deep in thought, we walked a few blocks back toward our Bed and Breakfast, unsure of what to do next. It was then that Scott offered this little chestnut:

"Maaan...I really hate Bono...but this is freakin' cool!"

Over the next two days, we tried everything we could to meet the man himself. Fueled by teenage stupidity and a few Guinness, we waited outside his driveway in the rain, wrote letters to him and his wife, and generally made it known to everyone we ran into that two American teenagers were looking for Bono.

We gave it one last college try before we had to take the train back to Dublin. On a somewhat sunny morning, around 10 a.m., we once again trekked up to the driveway. This time, a few other people were milling about staring at the house. Finally, the blond lady  who had been hanging laundry a few days ago came walking out.

"Can I help you?" she politely asked in a lovely Irish lilt.

We decided to just go for it.

"Yes, we are here to see Bono. We are American fans of his and we are here to see him."

The nice lady smiled at us and said "Oh, he is not here, and even if he was, he would not come out to see you."

Ouch.

We headed back to Dublin for one last night in Ireland.