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"I was just wondering if there are any rats fans around my age"

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 Hia Cindy.. I'm 14 years old and a big Boomtown Rats, and Bob fan too.. so Don't worry, you're not alone....

here here couldnt have put it better myself! glad to know im not alone in the world!

I def agree that the internet is the best thing in the world for finding out more about the rats- and without it i wouldnt have the rats albums that i have now, and this makes me truly grateful and lucky to be living in this age!

However, i still can't help wishing that i grew up in the late 70's, purley to be able to have the possible opportunity of attending a Rats gig and being in the age when everyone (by this i mean my friends and the teenage population in general) listned to their music. It is no wonder that the Rats' music has been kept alive all these years- i hope it never dies!!!

quote:

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Originally posted by: Jules
"Katharina I remember having a scrap book full of Bob stuff, we had to rely on teenage magazines and music papers to find out things about Bob and cut them all out

it is good to know Bob is still gaining fans after all these years "

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Hi Cindy. As you have allready heard your not the only one at your age who loves BTR. Im 18 yers old and from Denmark. I have most resently been locked in as a member. And I'm very happy to know I'm not the only one my age who loves them. Excuse me, I'm not that good to write in english.

hi camilladk! fun to know someone else from scandinavia likes the rats I'm 17, almost 18.., and living in Sweden

oh, and I'm going to a designschool too! art and design..

oh well..that was all I had to say

Cindy wrote:

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However, i still can't help wishing that i grew up in the late 70's, purley to be able to have the possible opportunity of attending a Rats gig and being in the age when everyone (by this i mean my friends and the teenage population in general) listned to their music. It is no wonder that the Rats' music has been kept alive all these years- i hope it never dies!!!

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Mouse wrote:

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 Its so fustrating to not be able to share passion, lyrics, and tune with other people, as they are abluvious to this fantastic music.

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i agree with you that 'people are depriving themselves of exellent music'!

The other day i played 'rat trap' to my friends and they all thought it was really good but when i told them who sung it they went off it just because they arent a popular band anymore how stupid is that!?

Damn I wish I didn't live in Aus right now so I could meet up with yall!

Anyway...back on topic, i'm 16 and love the Boomtown Rats, the music is great and I co-sign this statement

Know how you feel iluvbobgeldof, most of the famous bands today seem to just cover (and ruin) old songs. If you want to find a decent band now, they all seem to be undiscovered groups playing in their spare time.

wow i guess i must b 1 of the youngest people here..i'm thirteen.i'm glad you guys don't treat people differently because of their age, it's really nice. 

Well here goes.its pretty rubbish as its only my first draft and theres loads of stuff i want to change but hey.

1 to 1 interview

As I pulled myself out of bed at an hour so early my mind barely registered the clock, my brain began to click into gear.  I had an hour to get on the plane, but I’d make it.  Sure enough I was out the door in a matter of minutes, looking just as bedraggled as my hero.

I reached the airport just in time.  Turns out Easy Jet were the company to fulfil my dreams.

50 minutes later I was fighting my way through the oversized termite mount that was Edinburgh city centre.  My skin melted off onto my denim jacket in the blistering summer heat, characteristic of a Mediterranean island.  Despite this I was shivering.  It was a shiver of anticipation.  Today I would witness the end of the long walk to justice, the greatest show on earth for the final time.  Today I would witness the last in a series of concerts sweeping the globe and the gathering of 50000 people in a tiny, almost insignificant stadium, right here in Edinburgh.  My head was swimming and my legs were striding rather unconvincingly along the burning pavement.

I blundered down street after street, searching for anywhere with a vacancy.  Eventually I found a scruffy looking hotel with one room left.  I sped to the desk before anyone else could make a booking.  A wave of relief swept over me.  I was here.  In a few hours time I would be enjoying possibly the greatest experience of my life.  But then the nerves set in.  My hero would be there.  Maybe I’d see him?  Perhaps I’d speak to him?  I brushed these crazy ideas aside and crawled up to my room.

Sometime around 5 o’clock I arrived at the gates to Murray field stadium.  Crowds of oversized ants buzzed backwards and forwards, itching to get inside.  The people there were of such a variety that as soon as you think you’ve grasped the range of the audience, you found another unusual group of people that totally destroyed your theory.  My heart was pounding and my mind was overloaded with so many thoughts, I began to find it difficult to determine between fact and fantasy.  Then I was in.  The sun was burning through the sky and the sea of white clothes was like a laser piercing my eyes.  Half past six was the last time I checked my watch.  After that all I knew was music.

We all have a hero at some point in our lives, and they’re all different depending on our personal experiences.  Sometimes you can use the history of your hero to help yourself and others and learn from what they’ve done.

The noise died down and bodies began to trickle away from the stage.  As I waited I saw a man in the distance.  The shirt, slippers and consequent swagger seemed so familiar.  I slid closer, trying to look calm.  There was no mistaking it.  His hand swept back his hair in that typical way that showed he wasn’t happy about something.  I pulled a notebook out of my pocket.  If I played this right he might think I was a professional journalist.  As his latest victim slipped away, I stepped forward.  There before me was the winner of Brits, Grammies, Ivor Novellos and Nobel peace prize nominee.  The Irish punk rocker span round and I grinned insanely at the aging face of Sir Bob Geldof (or Robert Frederick Xenon Geldof KBE to give him his correct title).  I flicked through the pages in my hand, until I found what I was looking for.  I’d always dreamed of this and scrawled on this shabby piece of paper were all the questions I’ve ever wanted to ask.

“Hi, Bob.  I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions,” I requested nervously.  I saw his teeth lower to his bottom lip, preparing for the formation of the letter ‘f’.  “I’m not really a journalist, just a fan,” I blurted before he could even start on the letters ‘u’ and ‘c’, “I won’t tell anyone.”

He laughed, “You’ll tell everyone.  But there isn’t much left for the world to find out about me, so you might as well.”

My heart had stopped pounding as soon as he opened his mouth.  I felt totally calm.  I was ready to fulfil my dream.  I scanned down the list in search of my first question.  I hurriedly crossed out all the questions referring to his ex-wife Paula Yates as I knew this would only introduce his trademark bad language to the conversation.

I selected my question and began, “So, how are things going with the Make Poverty History campaign?” I posed confidently, taking my seat on a hay bale opposite Geldof.

“It’s absolutely brilliant,” he replied, “I can only hope that these concerts have had the same effect on the politicians as they have on the public.  For them to come out of that hotel at the end of it all and say they’ve done nothing would be almost impossible, even for the most vacant and sour leaders.  That would make them murderers,” he spat sitting down opposite me.  I half expected him to crack a remark about the lack of luxuries here.  But then I thought again.  This is the man leading the campaign to improve life for the poor, he’s not likely to complain about the seating arrangements at an event such as this.

I pondered my next question carefully.  I had to get this one right otherwise I could be ending this interview sooner than I thought.  I took a deep breath, “O.K, now for some history.  What was your childhood like?”

He sighed solemnly, “Well as I’m sure you know, my mother died of a brain haemorrhage when I was 7 and my dad was a travelling salesman, so he wasn’t home very often.  For about a year I went everywhere in a crab style way, you’ve probably seen the Parkinson interview,” he smiled, “So from about the age of 8, I was almost totally independent.  We had no money so there was no T.V or phones or anything else really.  Dun Loaghaire wasn’t the most salubrious of places at the best of times.  I can honestly say I learned nothing from this experience,” he closed abruptly.

In an attempt to lighten the mood I invited, “I know you’ve been to a lot of big events and posh parties but what’s your funniest memory of the royals?”

He grinned, “I’ve had a lot of funny experiences with them but since your only 14 I’ll choose a more toned down story.  I was at Buck house, talking to Prince Charles about African trade and such like, when William walks in, and being the posh little child he was began to moan, “He’s all dirty!  He’s got scruffy hair and wet shoes!” to which I replied “Shut up you horrible boy!”  That was a good feeling,” he laughed.  I laughed along too.  I felt totally relaxed around him.

I already knew a lot about Bobs’ family life in the past.  His wife had left him for Michael Hutchence, an Australian singer, and took their three kids with her.  He eventually won back custody of the children.  Not long after that, Hutchence hung himself and in the year 2000 Paula Yates also died.  This meant that Bob was now in custody of their daughter as well.   But I didn’t know very much about what life was like for him now.  So I asked, “What is your family life like now?”

He responded quickly, “Well I live with Jeanne Marine and then there’s my three daughters, Fifi-Trixibelle who’s 22, Peaches honey blossom who’s 15 and Pixie who’s 14, as well as Paula’s daughter,” he took a deep breath, “Heavenly Hiraati Tiger Lily Hutchence-Yates.  That’s everyone,” he smiled.

A short, middle-aged roadie stumbled in with two bottles of cheap lemonade.  We both took one and thanked him.  Despite the fact the drinks were warm they were still refreshing.

I scanned down my page and selected my next question, “I’m a huge fan of the Rats but how did they get started?”

“Well when I was younger I went on a trip to Canada and managed to bluff my way into running a music paper until I was eventually deported.  When I got back I ended up working in an abattoir, which provided me with the inspiration for rat trap, and with prostitute’s as well as in homeless shelters and anti apartheid groups.  My mates and I formed a band called the nightlife thugs.  We later changed the name to the Boomtown Rats.  I remember at our first gig there were only about 30 people there,” he laughed, “But I was petrified and started the show with my back to the audience because I couldn’t look and tried to hide my face.  But after just a few minutes of us playing I realised they were cheering and clapping.  It was an amazing experience.”

I beamed at him, “Personally I think the small crowds are the worst.  I can perform in front of an entire year group but not a class of 20 friends and enemies!”

We sat for a moment laughing and drinking our lemonade in the in the steamy night.

Then I asked, “When you organised the original band aid, did you expect it to come this far and cause such a stir?”

He frowned and tilted his head in that comforting way I so often saw in pictures and interviews, “I don’t think anyone ever expected it to become such a phenomenon.  Of course we always hoped it would, otherwise there would have been absolutely no point.  No one ever expects ideas to evolve but sometimes you just get lucky.  I was lucky, I’ve helped to change things and so have all the people who support this campaign.  If Tony Blair continues to push his fellow leaders we can change things just a little bit and consequently make a big difference.”  I was in awe.  He had such a presence and such a fantastic way of gripping the listener.  I blinked hard and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I murmured, “How did the BBC video make you feel and what did you do next?”

He ran his hand over his face and through his fringe in despair, “It was a terrible feeling.  I was saddened and disturbed but I was also angry.  I was angry that nobody had done anything.  We sat at home and watch this murder, this exploitation of innocent people every night and when it got too much, we just turned it off.  Just like that and pretended it wasn’t happening, pretended that they weren’t real people who were really dyeing.  Of course the troubles of those people seem so far away but they’re not.  In a few hours you could be there.  You can’t turn it off when your there.  There’s no switch to turn off the stench or turn a murder scene into a stand up comedian.  You can’t ignore it.  That’s why I recorded Band Aid and organised Live Aid.  When I was writing those lyrics I blanked out everything.  I didn’t consciously know what I was writing.  Thank God Midge was there to help me with the tune.  I couldn’t have done it without him.  People say I shunned him when it came to Live Aid, but the truth is, he had nothing to do with it.  Trust me I wasn’t likely to turn away from help back then!” he laughed hoarsely.  My heart was pounding.  His voice was still piercing my skull and I could remember every word like they were my own.

We sat there for a moment in silence.  Bob began to look bored and agitated like the child that never flourished.  So I posed my next question, “When you recorded Band Aid you had some trouble with Thatcher.  What happened?”

His eyes took on a fiery glow at this point, “As you know, when we recorded the song everybody worked for free.  However, when it came to selling the single, Maggie Thatcher and her Tory friends decided it would be a great idea to add tax to the equation.  As you can imagine I was disgraced by her lack of judgement and logic.  Of course I wasn’t going to let this happen so when I was at one of her parties I asked a friend to introduce me to her.  She looked horrified.  She started cracking jokes about the Africans when I told her that they only needed the basics like butter.  She started laughing and conferring to her fellow MP’s about how butter isn’t much used to anyone.  I soon put her straight on that one too.  Eventually she did remove the tax from the sales.  There are some terrible people in this world.  I’ve battled against politicians, business men and even royalty to save people.  Why would you fight that?”  I honestly had no idea.  All I could do was sit there and ponder how to end this conversation.

“Thanks very much Bob.  You’ve just fulfilled my dream!” I joked.  He smiled and reached into his pocket.  He pulled out on of his infamous ‘Bob Geldof Is Cool’ slogan badges.  He handed it to me and I pinned my purple medal of honour onto what looked like my Geldof fancy dress costume.  We looked almost identical.  This made my chuckle lightly under my breath.  I thanked him again.

“Come here,” he said, stretching out his arms.  I wrapped my arms around him in a way similar to that of a son to his father.  It was over.

That same image flashed through my head continuously as I made my way back to the hotel to collect my bags.  As I crawled onto the plane I could still hear his voice ringing in my ears.  About an hour later I was sat in the taxi that would end my incredible journey.  Visions of the BBC news at 6 o’clock in the autumn of 1984 swam through my head accompanied by Bob’s response to the question I had asked him regarding this.  I was on the verge of tears.  My head span and my heart thundered in my chest as I fumbled for the key.  It took me several attempts to open the door as I kept scratching the wood work in my daze.  I closed the door and slid into bed.  Then I was asleep.  That was it.  My fantasy had ended in the same place as it had begun.

Its a bit long but there you are guys

thanks!iv not got my mark yet.she marks it and then it goes off to the exam board as a gcse coarsework piece

Tango - I think your essay is more-than-excellent. I was amazed how much you know about Bob, and how you wove that into the story.  After all, a hero is someone who is espescially admired - and knowing about the life experiences of someone is often the only way to truly achieve this admiration.

And, as you say: "Sometimes you can use the history of your hero to help yourself and others and learn from what they've done."

Bob's experiences, and espescially his approach to life, are surely to be admired - and I think it's terrific that you consider him as your hero.

Awww, well, we are talking about Bob Geldof here!!