BONO here, lead singer and spokesperson for U2, global poverty and the planet herself. It’s not cool to park outside our houses, guys. Let me tell you why:
Beginning with me, because I’m the main one, it has a profound effect when I see cars outside the mansion walls. It’s a small community, a creative one, and when I see 70-80 cars parked on verges I know the whole place is on the verge of being a mudbath.
I wish it wasn’t my fault, though I know it is. I kid myself they’re here for a day at the beach, or to play at the football fields, or even for the much-advertised car boot sales, but we all know Bono, saviour in tinted glasses, is the object of their adoration and it fucks me right off.
Imagine if some stranger imposed something like that on you, their ugly Renault Espace parked at an angle by your entrance gates, or an album on your iPhone without asking. So knock it off, guys, alright?
Larry Mullen Jr.
Hi. I sit at the back of U2, behind the drumkit. Parking for non-residents outside my place also 100 per cent has to stop. Every other Friday I invite 200 of my friends round for a nude masquerade ball, like in the film Eyes Wide Shut. It’s consensual, adult fun and parking is at a premium, so avoid those nights.
Oh, and I’ve got the BT Openreach engineer coming around on Thursday lunchtime as well, so avoid then. But mainly it’s the sex parties.
Edge here, or David to friends and family, a simple hat-wearing megastar guitarist. Bad investments of the proceeds of the 170 million albums we’ve sold – I tend to take men in pubs at their word – means I live quite a humble life. Bono gives me a monthly stipend, which I spend on pop and crisps, but I live in a flatshare above a Chicken Cottage in Croydon with Flea from the Chili Peppers and one of the lads from REM.
And I really need people to stop nicking our spaces. Parking’s permit-only and we can’t afford one, so there are only four spaces where I can put my Fiat 500 without getting another fecking ticket. Traffic wardens are piss takers. They have no sympathy even though they know how strapped for cash I am.
I’m the bassist of U2, but generally keep my head down about it. When people ask I say I’m a music teacher. If they press me further on my cool jackets, angular haircuts and leather trousers, I tell them I’m having a midlife crisis and made a few quid off of crypto.
To be honest, no-one’s really parking outside my house. I live in Westminster so it’s either red routes or metered. But anything for a quiet life and Bono’s announced this as a full-band project even though it’ll be as disastrous as the Passengers album.
So yeah. If you were to park in the Westminster area, avoid 8am-9am Wednesdays as that’s when my hot yoga instructor’s over, and at 7pm on Thursdays a man from a historical society is giving me lessons on how to churn butter. Thanks.