Before last night, Deccie, like everyone else in Ireland, had slagged off Bono. Damn bleeding-heart do-gooder. Tax-dodging so-and-so. He didn’t do enough; he did too much. The new music was shite; the old music was shite. The new way they played the old music was shite. Say what you wanted about the fella, he provided an invaluable service in being somebody everybody could hate, even if it was for reasons that were diametrically opposed.
