U2's late teens seem to have set the mold for their lives. They formed the band then; they formed all their strongest relationships then, too. Bono met his wife, Ali, at his school. Edge met his ex-wife at that time (they split during the "Zoo TV" tour). Larry's girlfriend is local. U2's jovial, powerful, local manager, Paul McGuiness, came along. It was in their late teens and early twenties, too, that Bono, Edge and Larry became so involved in a local church that U2 almost disbanded.

When Bono and Ali got married -- Bono was 22 -- they chose a service in keeping with their previous church (chanting, pet-scaring, etc.). Nowadays, religion within U2 is omnipresent (even the once-secular Adam mentions U2's spirituality to me) but less defined.

Bono sings about a God-shaped hole in his life but only goes to church when there's no one else there. "Beaches or nightclubs are closer to my idea of what a church might be," he insists.

A lot of U2's development might be put down to the fact that, just when Satan could have shown them how to live -- the delights of being in a successful band in your early twenties are many and frighteningly soul- smearing -- U2 chose the way of the saints. And if you don't rebel when you can, it will only come out later. Perhaps the wild excesses of the "Zoo TV" tour were just those they should have tasted earlier: supermodels, bellydancers, stupid clothes, daftness. U2 have lived their pop life in reverse.

Still, at least the Church seems to have worked for Bono's marriage. Ali -- campaigning documentary maker and mother of two girls, Jordan and Eve -- and he have lasted better than most.

"I have to keep up with her," he says. "She's very cool. She likes to see me fly, to see me laugh or even fall out the sky a bit. If you really hit it with someone, you go through this barrier. You get through possessive, then you just want to see what they can do."

Another new U2 concept: the "Pop" tour will be called "Popmart" because, Bono rushes back in to tell me, it's all about 1990s shopping culture. U2 -- well, Bono and The Edge -- handle the questions with long-suffering aplomb, deflect awkward money inquiries with a deft flick of a glitter collar.

"We believe in trash and kitsch," murmurs Edge, the unkitschiest, most quality bloke you could ever imagine.

Everyone nods, unable to comprehend English, let alone Irish-accented, post- modern satire encased in lamé body suits.

But Bono won't despair. He can't. He can't stop himself talking, chucking out the ideas, the concepts, the diversions, the distractions. And he gives the game away.

"Look," he explains, consummate rock star, corporate whore, ideals on heels, contradiction in kick flares, "our music is painfully, insufferably earnest. No matter how much we wrap it up in tinsel and television, I'm still the geezer with the white flag. We've got the same ideals as ever. We've just learned to look like we don't."