Róisín Ingle: I know the rules. I know it's not cool to love Bono but I do

• Author: Róisín Ingle
• Published date: 29 June 2022
• Publication title: Irish Times: Web Edition Articles (Dublin, Ireland)

Being a journalist has given me a few more Bono stories over the years. I'm high up in Liberty Hall reporting on an extravagant firework display. He's being rushed away by security people but when I say his name he stops and talks to me, gives me a good quote for my piece, compliments an article I wrote. He is kind. I'm in St Stephen's Green and I'm laughing into my notebook because he's carrying a lamb into the park. The day before he, and the rest of U2, have been granted the Freedom of the City and now, according to the old laws, they have permission to graze sheep there

I'm in The Irish Times office and he's come in to talk to journalists about his work in Africa with the One Foundation. I'm sitting beside him in a conference room, because earlier I found out where he'd be sitting and I put my coat on the next seat, bagsying the chair. I'm beside him as he answers questions for an hour. Beside him and beside myself. Afterwards, I ask him to sign my phone cover which is one of those that looks like a cassette tape. He signs his name and writes the name of a U2 album yet to be released. When he's gone I walk outside in the rain, euphoric, holding my phone. In a few seconds the rain dissolves the writing, the cassette cover is washed clean as though Bono never happened. But I know he was there.

I love him for his words, for his music, for his good works, for his success, for his humour, for his mischief, for his nuanced Irishness, for his Dublin pride

I'm in Croker or the Point or Manchester or London singing along with the band, in deep communion with four amazing Dubliners. I see him in different places over the decades because you can't really move through Dublin without spotting him somewhere but I mostly manage to keep my distance in the Clarence Hotel or in a restaurant in Dalkey or on Grafton Street.

I know the rules. I know it's not cool to love Bono but I do. As much as it's feasible to use the word love about someone you don't know in real life. Someone who is as flawed as any other human, who has made mistakes, who can drive people up the wall. I love him for his words, for his music, for his message, for his character, for his good works, for his success, for his humour, for his mischief, for his nuanced Irishness, for his Dublin pride, for his faith. And I know some people will find this embarrassing, be embarrassed for me, but I don't care what anybody else thinks. Feck off with your scorn. Mine is a groovy kind of love.

On Sunday, I take...