My Kinda Life

www.paulcoia.com

I’m going to Portugal for a week’s holiday on Saturday and I want you all to say to yourself “that’s nice, Paul deserves a bit of a break”, because when I mentioned my vacation to a pal the other day he laughed and said “but your whole life’s a holiday”.

I guess I can’t complain about “my life” as I am indeed lucky, but a continual holiday? It’s hard work looking this good and being so popular, and you don’t want to know the frustrations I’ve had over past two weeks just going about my business. Actually, if you’re reading this blog, then perhaps you do.

I’ve interviewed a lot of celebrities over the past few weeks and I guess the knack is to make them feel appreciated and loved so that they relax and “give good interview”. The only way to do this, apart from my natural charm and charisma of course, is to show the interviewee respect by doing a lot of homework on them. There can be nothing more brain numbing than getting asked the same questions day after day.

The young actress Kristen Stewart, from the new mega successful movie Twilight, has said that she kept getting asked “What’s it like to kiss a vampire?” on the movie’s publicity tour, and it made her want to scream so much that when someone actually asked a novel or interesting question her brain had shut down and couldn’t cope.

A couple of weeks ago I interviewed Hugh Cornwell who wrote all the big hits for The Stranglers and now has a new album out. The last time I interviewed Hugh and the rest of the band I found them impossible to cope with and many swear words hit the airwaves of Glasgow, so much so that I was fired from presenting that particular show. This time, I studiously listened to the CD and did my research hoping to make amends, only to find as he arrived that I’d left all my hard worked questions at home. I rang my wife Debbie and asked her to email the notes but, as she makes Wilma Flintstone look at one with technology, I gave up and had to wing it. “I like the album’s diversity”, I started and soon cringed as Hugh came right back with “Really? Can you expand on that because I don’t think it’s diverse at all”.

I then interviewed singer Will Young for a network radio piece that was to be spread over five days, so you’d think his record company would appreciate the publicity and just let us get on with it. But no, they told me I had five minutes to do the whole thing. I was on the point of walking away when they relented, grudgingly, and upped our time to ten, constantly breaking in on my headphones to tell me to hurry up. Not at all relaxing.

The same happened with Mr T, my hero from The A Team, who I was asked to talk to last week. The PR people from Snickers had flown him over and said I could have five minutes. How kind. We started, only for them to interrupt as he and I discussed cancer, saying I was getting too personal. Credit Mr T who told them to shut up and promised they’d send me some Snicker bars for their bad manners. I’m still waiting.

Next day it was Michael Ball who is starring in Hairspray in the West End and has a new album out. I asked him to prove he really was partly Welsh and he sang their national anthem right through. Not being Welsh myself, it could have been Esperanto or Saturday Night Geordie he was singing, but the tune was right and the words seemed to scan.

Mick Taylor, the former Rolling Stones guitarist was next up but, despite all my homework, he appeared with someone I’d never heard of and I had to interview them together. As I staggered to the end, pretending I knew Mick’s friend, I was coincidentally forced to rush off to interview former Rolling Stones’ squeeze Marianne Faithfull, so Mick asked me to give her his love and say he’d been to a recent gig of hers in Holland. I later passed on his kisses and hugs to Ms Faithfull and told her he’d been to her gig. “What a lovely man he is, but why didn’t he come backstage and say hello?”, she asked. As she smiled, she then said in her husky, very upper crust, English accent, “what a c**t”.

Simply Red were on the agenda for interview the next day but, as Mick Hucknall’s in South America, the time difference meant me hanging around our studios till nine at night waiting for his call. I read all the papers, watched TV and wrote my autobiography in three volumes waiting for the call that never came. Mick had been given the wrong number and I went home empty handed.

I realise that detailing these banal frustrations of the past two weeks shows that I don’t have enough to worry about but I also hope it shows I’m not permanently on holiday. Every night while you are out clubbing or drinking champagne with super models, I’m at home researching for an interview and hoping not to put my foot in it. Along with all these interviews, throw in a daily radio show, my coaching of executives, flying off to record TV pilots in Sweden and waddling round the gym when I can get the time, and I hope you agree I really do need a wee holiday.

If you fancy taking over while I’m away then let me know, but don’t get too comfortable. When I return I want my job back because, the truth is, despite smelly old PR people and record company jobsworths, I’m having a ball.