Savage bar attack leaves journalist terrified.

my favourite Niamh Horan article. it reminds me of the girl invited by a male suitor to his bedroom to look at his stamp collection only to discover he did not have a stamp collection....


When a rapper invites you to party . . . he doesn't just mean bubbly and a boogie
Sunday April 08 2007

NIAMH HORAN
I'LL let you in on a little secret; when a rapper says 'party', he doesn't exactly mean it in our innocent sense of the word.
Believe me, take my advice, or you'll find out like I did; the hard way.

It all started when a friend and I were invited back to join the godfathers of hip hop, P Diddy and Snoop Dogg , at their after-show party at plush Four Seasons Hotel last Sunday night.

The superstar duo were in town for the final night of the European tour and I've been a serious fan of their music since my early teens.

Naturally I was unhappy when we got stuck at the back of the concert arena.

What to do? I decided to chance my arm to secure a better view of my heroes. I toddled up to security personnel at the pit, flashed a winning smile and asked if there was any way I could get in to the front-of-stage trench filled with screaming fans.

"Not a hope," came the stern reply. But after laying on the charm a little bit more he pointed to a tall black guy wearing very snazzy pyjamas. This was the man, apparently, who could make my request come true.

Seconds later I got the OK and for the next two and a half hours my friend and I were neck deep among the hard-core sweaty fans getting down to lyrics like "Get my drink on, and my smoke on, then go home with, something to poke on (whassup bitch?)".

In hindsight it should have all been so clear. The lyrics told the story.

So, as the concert was finishing, I asked my friend if she wanted to beat the crowd. But just as we were leaving the pit I spotted Snoop Dogg himself on the other side of the steel barrier, making his way from the stage to his dressing room.

I grabbed his attention and next thing I know I was holding his hand and telling him how much I love him and his music. My fleeting rendezvous left me feeling all giddy and flustered and I was laughing at the sheer luck of it all when we spotted a group of girls being led in back stage.

"What's going on?" I asked the security guard. "These girls are going to the after-show party," came the reply.

My eyes lit up and thoughts of a Cristal cork-popping extravaganza start swirling in my head. Again I asked the security guard. Any chance? He shakes his head "no way".

Not being one to be easily deterred I persisted until I saw another guy giving orders who looked to be fairly high up the chain of command.

I put on my biggest puppy dog eyes, "Any chance of getting to that after-show party?" I smile. Bingo. He opened the steel barrier and waved my friend and I through.

So we're shown through a set of red doors and, along with a small group of girls, escorted out to a waiting bus. Standing next to it was my saviour in the pyjamas, who later claimed to be Snoop Dogg's uncle, holding two giant bottles of champagne.

So there we allwere, a group of giddy, giggling girls, unable to believe our luck, when we got a final word of warning in a deep south American drawl from our escort, "If you don't wanna party, don't get on the bus".

My friend and I looked at each other, "Of course we want to party with P Diddy and his crew, what kind of question is that?"

Once on the fully air-conditioned bus with blacked-out windows and tables, the excitement began to build up among the chosen girls. One by one we started applying our make-up in anticipation of the big bash.

Once in the hotel, however, things quickly began to go downhill as hotel management stopped us in our tracks on the way to the room saying that, for legal reasons, non-residents weren't allowed up to the suites.

So there we were, standing in the lobby with Snoop Dogg's uncle and some bottles of Cristal, trying to think of a way for him to get us up, when P Diddy strolled by. Don't get excited, I told myself, you'll be partying with him soon enough.

Ah, but that's when the penny began to drop and the reason we were so 'privileged' to be invited to the exclusive get-together suddenly became clear.

As a couple of the guys who were on stage with P Diddy strutted in, one of them pointed at me and said: "I want that one." I got all excited at what I thought was my ticket to the party and asked if my pal could come along too.

"I got two," he shouted to another member of the entourage, across the lobby.

Then he turned to me and asked straight out. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Sorry?" came my reply. "What do you mean?"

"Whisper in my ear what you gonna do to me, I want you to talk dirty," he demanded.

Dumbfounded, I look over at my friend for help. "Tell him in Irish, Niamh," she offered, hoping I could get away with murmuring 'Conas ata tu' in his ear.

"No, No," says the now increasingly frustrated musician. "Tell me in English."

He looked at the shocked, somewhat embarrassed expression on my face, and continued sharply: "There are a lot of girls who wanna come to this party you know. Now are you going to get naked with me. Yes or no?"

Still nothing but a blank expression on my face.

"Fine," he snapped. And stormed off before coming back when he saw another of the entourage talking to me.

"That sh*t ain't game," he shouted, pointing at me, obviously advising them not to bring me to the party because I wouldn't put out.

The dude claiming to be Snoop Dogg's uncle came over to ask what I had done to make him angry. I told him my story, hoping to get some sympathy but I was quickly put in my place.

"I told you, you don't want to party, don't get on the bus!"

Indeed. Hindsight's a wonderful thing. When these boys say party - they don't mean jelly and ice cream.

Biggins wrote: »

Yep, she has been busy again - and it looks like she is reading here: http://img259.imageshack.us/img259/4924/p1170748small.jpg

She now says - she didn't name earlier the man for legal reasons.

So admits knowing who he was but still asked if we kne who he was? Sweet Jesus, not naming him is one thing, but surely some idiot should have spotten the hole in the plot?

Couldn't read the article becaue the photo is too small - did she actually mention boards or politics.ie or say where the abuse came from?

Wibbs wrote: »

No doubt it'll be made plain as both her and her co "journalist" and flatmate IIRC are quick to point lawyers at dissenters, or at least the amateur hour threat of them. I like how Broadsheet.ie respond. Clearly they can afford to respond in such a manner as sadly the solicitors letter attack is an all too easy way for people to quell dissent in this country due to the very real risk of expensive court cases even if you win.

Fair enough. I'm in a foreign jurisdiction, so I look froward to a letter. Or a camera shoved in my face...

This is it: Whatever about the cicumstances and glossing over the fact that she started it, they simply can not defend the atrocious article that followed it. And THIS is the problem - the Sindo can not seem to understand (or do not want to understand) the fact how bad that the journalistic piece that thet ran.

They would save so much face if they just came out and said, "we will continue down the path of investigative jouanlism and tracking down criminals, but we apologize for lack of professinoalism and for publishing such flowery crap. It won't happen again."

Pantsface wrote: »

http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/anne-harris-double-blow-for-brave-reporter-under-attack-3203458.html


this gave me a great laugh this morning!!!

Why did I give that page my hit