Some like it sweet

We just met for a quiet drink, two old friends catching up after several years out of touch. We had drifted apart - geographically, for one thing. There were other reasons for our friendship hiatus, but they didn't seem to matter now. I was running late, which was strange, because back in the day I never used to be. Back in the day she always was. It was a trademark, like her collection of vintage dresses back when vintage wasn't something you could pick up in Topshop. I had always been early. Apparently, things had changed.

It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. She had phoned the office that day and I'd answered, and, yes, I was free tonight and where should we meet? What about the Clarence? And she laughed her mischievous laugh and said perfect. Because it was. That hotel had played a part in of one of our best adventures together, almost 20 years ago, when we won the Millennium Busking Competition. It was the first day we had ever busked. She had her guitar and I had a tambourine. We loved Some Like It Hot, so we were Sugar - in honour of Marilyn Monroe's character - and Honey, because it was the perfect accompaniment.

Dublin's Great In '88was the slogan for the millennium celebrations. It was the pre-mobile-phone era, so after the competition I'd had to get the number 3 bus home from town, to wait by the phone in case a miracle occurred - which it did. "Sugar and Honey?" the voice on the phone said when I picked it up. "Yes, this is Honey speaking," said I. "You've won," said the voice. I put the phone back on the cradle and sat under the stairs in wonder and excitement.

She had given me the number for the Clarence, and I dialled, asking that she be paged, and suddenly she was on the phone and we were screaming at each other in disbelief. I got the bus back to the Clarence, where we drank cider in celebration. The hotel was dowdier then, without rock-star owners, but it was still elegant and full of musty promise. Since '88, walking through its doors has reminded me of that sweet, unexpected victory.

So here we were again. We got reacquainted over Jimmy Beam. Part of the reason she wanted to meet me was to tell me that her father had died. Beautiful Patrick Joseph McCormack, who in dying became the only man ever to break her heart. When staff began to make closing noises we moved to the residents' lounge to finish our drinks. I cheekily asked some hotel guests if they'd mind signing for drinks for us, so we could continue our conversation. We'd pay for them, of course. We weren't looking for a free ride; we just wanted not to be kicked out if we could help it, to continue what we'd restarted.

The men wouldn't hear of us paying. They asked us to join them, and, over the din of a woeful sing-song across the room, they told us their names were Brian and Danny. Our new friends couldn't believe the poor quality of the singsong in the corner, and so it was decided that we would strike up a rival racket. Brian and Danny could sing. Gloriously. Deep soulful stylings, complicated harmonies and rhythmic, table-thumping passion. We told them about Sugar and Honey, and there in the Clarence almost 20 years later the girls came out to play. For one night only.

By now the other singers had admitted defeat. We kept going. We did Motown and 1950s ballads and Two Little Girls from Little Rock. Sugar requested Moon River. Brian obliged.

Apparently, nothing had changed. Sugar and Honey still had something going on, and it was quickly becoming clear that Brian and Danny had too much musical talent to be visiting businessmen or double-glazing salesmen. Brian drummed skilfully on the table while we dusted down Sugar's song The Clay and the Rose and the Wood, a song she wrote at 21. Then Danny was whispering stuff about Roxy Music and David Bowie, which is when it dawned on me that Brian and Danny were Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois.

And a few days later, just to confirm, the 30th-birthday edition of Hot Pressinformed us that U2 had recently been writing songs with Brian and Danny in a hotel in Morocco.

"I have to say, the chemistry that operates between the six of us is extraordinary. It's the four, it's the U2 thing, but it's given another twist with Brian and Danny," Edge told Hot Press. We know what he means.

Sugar is now a class musical act in her own right, but Honey is most definitely for hire, should the new U2 album require that kind of thing. Brian and Danny, pass it on.