
The daily business of being a rock star involves a profligate waste of electricity and airplane fuel; they gather around them vast retinues and fleets of pantechnicons such as would make Eddie Stobart blush; they consider they have a God-given right to invade the peace and quiet of anyone unfortunate enough to live in the vicinity of their open air gigs; whenever one of their records stiffs they blame it on the fact that the record company didn't flood the outlets by over-producing copies; they are incapable of going anywhere unaccompanied or by public transport; they buy huge houses that they rarely visit; their indulgence in drugs supports corrupt governments and criminal cartels and wherever they go they tend to leave a trail of waste.
Hardly eco-warriors, no matter how many songs they sing about it.
On a bitterly cold Dublin day like this one, even the most ardent tree hugger would welcome a bit of global warming.
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