'I AM a king!" proclaims Diddy. It's hard to disagree. It's 1am, in a dressing room at Stockholm's Globen Arena, and the world's most successful rap artist and producer . . . and the richest man in hip hop . . . is sparkling like a glitter ball. Like any king, Diddy has his crown jewels. Like any king, he enjoys great riches. Like any king, he instigates the revelry.

And, like any king, he has a grand retinue.

His Diddyness is in Stockholm to play the second show of an 18city, 30-date tour with one of the totemic figures in West Coast rap, Snoop Dogg. But it is by no means his only business in Europe. Diddy is the proud purveyor of a clothing line (Sean John); a fragrance (Unforgivable); and an album (Press Play). He is also the boss of Bad Boy, the record label he founded as a 24-year-old after only a year in the business; an actor on stage and screen; a keen investor in inner-city community projects; and a father of four.

An audience with the king must be earned. One not only has to wait and wait, one has to pay obeisance to his powerful entourage. There are (his stage manager estimates) about 60 permanent travelling members of the Diddy circus. And, at 3pm on Sunday (the start of my pursuit of Puff Daddy, or Puffy, or Sean John, or Sean John Combs, or Sean Puffy Combs, or P Diddy, or, latterly, Diddy), the floor of the arena is swarming with large black men, emailing each other on their Blackberries.

How, then, to attract his attention? Wearing his cologne, I reckoned, might be a start. But, on entering the Globen, it's apparent that everyone reeks of the stuff. Indeed, Diddy (who must be called P Diddy in Europe, after he was sued by a British producer called Richard 'Diddy' Dearlove) has employed four beautiful British women whose sole purpose is to spray Unforgivable on all and sundry.

And, what's more, not only is Diddy's vast train (vast in every sense . . . at 6'5" I qualify as a Puffy Posse midget) wearing his scent, they are all wearing his Sean John t-shirts and Bad Boy jackets, too.

But their mere presence is a good sign. Because there are 40odd people in the room, you know that Diddy is there, too. And, as I schmooze Nisan Stewart, Diddy's colossal musical co-ordinator, and David Miller, a vice president of Atlantic Records, the moment arrives. Diddy is behind the mixing desk, trying to nail down the sound levels for that evening's show. Then he emerges from the booth, walks over and shakes my hand.

"Hi, hi, hi, how you doing, " he says. His aviator-style sunglasses are, unusually, perched on his forehead, providing a rare view of his large, sunken eyes. His hand is a little soapy (or is that moisturiser? ) He seems a little distracted. "I gotta tighten it all up, " he says, to no one in particular, before walking off to find someone who can tighten it all up for him. Diddy stays in the arena for another five minutes before decamping backstage.

And, when the big man leaves, the room clears in less than a minute. The king has left the building.

Controversial past

Ten years ago, a joint Diddy and Snoop Dogg tour would have been unimaginable. On 13 September 1996, Tupac Shakur, a West Coast artist who, like Snoop Dogg, was signed to Suge Knight's Death Row Records, was murdered in Las Vegas. On 9 March 1997, Biggie Smalls, a onetime New York crack dealer and an artist on Diddy's Bad Boy label, was shot in Los Angeles in what appeared to be a revenge attack. The killings were the product of an argument, or 'beef ', between the East Coast and the West Coast that had been brewing for months, and that cemented hip hop's reputation as the most dangerous music scene that America had ever spawned.

But just as Tupac and Biggie have become martyrs in the years since their death, so hip hop has grown up and broken out. A musical movement that started in the ghettos of New York and LA is now the default soundtrack to white, middle-class parties all over the world. It is a measure of how far hip hop has come that most of London's West End clubs will now only play 'commercial R&B' . . . of the type Diddy has perfected . . . because other genres encourage clubbers to behave unpredictably.

Mainstream arrival

Snoop and Diddy's show in Stockholm confirms their arrival in the mainstream. And just as the pair play their greatest hits, ('Gin and Juice' for Snoop; 'I'll Be Missing You' for Diddy), a series of incongruous musical segments also blast the arena. There is some Led Zeppelin, some U2, some Bob Marley. It is a kind of Greatest Hits of All Time package . . . heavy on hip hop, but not exclusively hip hop. In between numbers, Snoop and Diddy exchange jokes like a couple of Ratpackers doing their Vegas reunion show. The only beef in Stockholm tonight is in the crew's canteen.

Watching the show from behind the stage, it's possible to see what a few of the peripheral members of the entourage do.

There is, for instance, a man in his 40s who wears a leopardprint suit and goes by the name of Real. Real's real job is unclear, but he styles himself as a "road manager". His principal occupation, however, is to procure attractive girls . . . who make up the majority of the audience . . . to dance on stage and then, it seems, accompany him to the hotel.

The powers behind the throne work more discreetly. There's Miller, a senior Atlantic executive. There's Harv Pierre, a short, silent character who has been with Diddy at Bad Boy since the early days and who rarely leaves his side. There's Divine, a smiling, hassled manager for the touring party. Then there are James Cruz and Chris Lighty, two men from Violator, the New York management firm that has cornered the market in urban music, having signed Busta Rhymes, Missy Elliott, Nas and now Diddy.

Lighty is the man to whom all must be referred. At 11.30pm, after the show . . . which is wellreceived but hampered by lighting problems . . . Diddy's main man can be seen stomping down the corridor. "There are too many motherf**king chefs in this f**kin' kitchen, " he bawls into a radio. "And that's why shit is f**ked up. I want Tim, and the lighting guy, here now!"

But when he's not angered by the inefficiency of his subordinates, Lighty is good company. He's funny and communicative, which is just as well, because all requests for Diddy's time go through him.

Nevertheless, at well past midnight, the interview still hasn't happened. As we wait outside the dressing rooms, the sound of James Brown pours out of Diddy's darkened dressing room, while the smell of skunk emerges from Snoop's. An access-all-areas MTV cameraman waits patiently for Diddy to emerge, while Snoop's three seven-foot tall, 25-stone bouncers form a quiet, physical barrier by their boss's door.

Suddenly, at 1am, Diddy strides into our anteroom and sinks into the sofa. He has MTV duties to attend to, where he must find imaginative answers to questions about why he's the greatest.

Snoop turns up halfway through . . . his tall, bony frame casting shadows in the downlight, his eyes showing some trademark redness . . . and there is much touching of fists. Snoop says "yabba dabba doo" an awful lot, which means he's happy. And then it's my turn. So, I ask, are Diddy and Snoop good role models for kids?

"I think we the best heroes for kids, " says Snoop. "We been through everything, in music and in life. We give the kids the best example to deal with everything."

Diddy, who has seen his fair share of trouble (including a recent accusation of manhandling a fellow guest at a postOscars party) concurs, saying: "A lotta role models have not been through trials and tribulations. You got to judge a champion by how he get up when he been knocked down."

Both Diddy and Snoop make much of the causes they have championed in the black inner-city communities with the money they have made from music. But how do they feel about America in 2007, where segregation along racial and financial lines is still prevalent? And how do they feel about the way the people of New Orleans have been treated since Hurricane Katrina?

Diddy takes over: "We think about anything that's affecting our people, " he says. "So, of course, Katrina is an issue. But it's not the only issue. We think about our brothers in Iraq, for instance. Not only those on our side, but those on the other side.

And, if you want to talk about Katrina . . . there are Katrinas happening all over the world.

"The problem of segregation is a worldwide problem . . . in Africa, in Europe. Walk around London or Paris and you'll see the same segregation you see in America.

That's why this tour is a beautiful thing . . . we're two strong black men, and we doing our best to stomp it out."

All the same, it must feel strange to them to be playing to so many white, middle-class people on this tour.

"I'll be honest, " says Diddy. "It's always been young white kids.

People in hip hop never wanted to accept that, but it's true. Young white kids have been rebelling, sneaking out of the suburbs, and coming to the shows for years.

And they're going home right now to turn up our music in their bedrooms. Hip hop is something you can't stop . . . it ain't got no colour lines."

What's the point of Diddy's growing business empire: the fragrance, the clothes, the TV shows? Is it all about the money?

"It's not about making money, " says Diddy. "If money was my only motivation, I'd be a billionaire right now. It's about appreciating and respecting the hip hop culture. The other big conglomerates, the Fortune 500 companies, they don't respect hip hop. They don't, like I do, make things especially for hip hop."

But the money's still good? "Oh, the money's great, " says Diddy, while Snoop laughs. "But I'm showing young people that they can empower themselves in a legal way. The money I make is legal. You got to understand that where we come from, that's a blessing."

The minders are becoming restless. There is a look of horror on the faces of many in the retinue. They clearly think I have overstepped the mark, and a voice from the back of the room says "no more questions". But Diddy's enjoying himself. "This is important, " he says, his eyes twinkling behind his wraparound shades. "One more question."

OK, when there are poor teenagers killing each other to buy a diamond necklace, just like the crucifix Diddy is wearing now, does he think that the pursuit of bling is a positive example to set?

"It's important to be yourself, " he says. "Snoop's his way. I'm mine. I like diamonds. I like a lot of nice things. The [question] to ask is, are you frontin'? I don't judge someone because they don't have on a diamond cross.

And I can't be judged, and neither do I give a f**k, for wearing something that I like.

I am a king. I live like a king. I treat myself, and my family, like the royal family. I will always have crown jewels. I will always have the best.

And I will always give back to the people, as I do."

The interview is over.

Some of Diddy's people are displeased with me but Miller is all smiles, presumably because Diddy is happy. And, as the entourage leave the room, he ushers me into one of his six blacked-out Mercedes people-carriers waiting at the back of the arena, and we speed off through the Stockholm night to the after-party.

At a nightclub called Hell's Kitchen, Diddy arrives, has his picture taken a thousand times, and then struts with his entourage through the camera flashes and screams. Once inside, we are led to a VIP area where there are 50 bottles of champagne on ice. Diddy, seated between Nissan, Lighty and a forest of exposed female flesh, drinks Dom Perignon straight from the bottle and parties with his nearest and dearest.

Meanwhile, across town, Snoop is being arrested.

The next day, most of us wake up with a sore head. Not Diddy, though. He didn't go to bed.

When the party was over he went back to his tour bus and, as it drove him and his crew to Oslo, reworked the show, especially the lighting. He stopped work at 10am, when he got his head down on his special cashmere pillow for a couple of hours, and then it was business as usual at Oslo's Spektrum Arena.

Snoop, meanwhile, has been released by Stockholm's police.

He and a female Brazilian friend had been arrested for the crime of taking illegal narcotics, which seems rather like arresting the pope for saying a 'Hail Mary'.

They were handcuffed for two hours, asked to complete some drugs tests, and then sent away. If any narcotics are found in Snoop's system, he will be fined no more than 175.

Snoop's arrest may not have caused him great discomfort but the incident . . . coming, as it does, hot on the heels of three other recent drugs and weapons offences . . . has caused a media storm, and both he and Diddy cancel all press for the day. The portcullis on the king's castle has come down. However, throughout Monday, by smoothing over Divine, Cruz, and Lighty, the goings-on underneath the stadium are still accessible. But Snoop's bodyguards aren't happy.

They ask me to move away from the dressing room and block my view of the artistes' area by pulling a curtain.

When Diddy arrives, he seems in good spirits. Indeed, as he leaves his Mercedes, he is carrying a glass of champagne in one hand and talking on his mobile phone on the other. His permanently scowling personal bodyguard, meanwhile, follows him around with the bottle of Moet & Chandon.

The set-up in the arena is way behind schedule, and after last night's frustrations, Diddy wants to make sure everything is perfect. Before the show, the slim corridor by the dressing rooms is shared by petite, barely-clothed dancers and enormous security men. Snoop's party, meanwhile, have not heeded their lesson from last night, and the sickly-sweet waft of weed pours from the room marked 'Dogg'.

At 8.30pm, it's showtime, and prayers are being said in Diddy's changing room. But there's a glitch. "Could we have the oxygen tank down here?" asks Cruz. "It's in the quick-change room, " replies a stage manager. "We ordered two! I need one down here now, " comes the reply. And, soon enough, an oxygen tank with a facemask appears, and is taken to Diddy's dressing room. Its destination is unclear, but it seems to do the trick for whoever needed it . . . Diddy and his crew emerge bouncing to the stage.

The show is a knockout. Not only does Snoop's rendition of 'Fuck Tha Police' carry some extra bite, but his cues with Diddy are sharper, the visuals work, and the crowd are manic.

And, at the end of the performance, as 'Love Train' blasts the walls of the stadium, Diddy and Snoop roll down the stairs to the dressing rooms, dancing and singing to the music.

An impromptu party starts outside the dressing rooms, and, with their arms around each other, the two old sparring partners from East and West jive to Zapp & Roger's 'More Bounce to the Ounce'.

Soon afterwards, the message comes out . . . Diddy will do another interview but we have to "walk and talk". Where, I ask?

Up the stairs from the dressing room to the car, replies Cruz . . .time for maybe one question. But this message has clearly not come from Diddy, because when he emerges from his dressing room at 12.30am, and he sees my dictaphone, he asks, "where do you want to do this? My dressing room?"

To the chagrin of the entourage, who must wait for Diddy before they can go to the after-party, we return to Diddy's darkened dressing room, where there are huge leather seats, a massive television and stereo, and one of those fibre-optic lamps teenagers used to be so fond of. He takes his glasses off and for the first time looks very ordinary. He looks tired and a touch soft around the edges which, given that he has worked 20-hour days for most of the past decade, is unsurprising. After last night's lukewarm performance he was full of bite; tonight, he's more subdued. But it was a better show, wasn't it?

"Yeah, last night was awful, " he says. "I mean, the people who were there had a good time, but they still did not see us perform at the level we know we can perform at. And that's frustrating. We doing this for the people. That's why I'm out here.

We ain't making money on this tour.

"I mean, I wasn't walking around last night like it was a problem, because last night was what God wanted me to see. But I did think, I wish I coulda done better. So, like a football manager, I studied the tapes and we came out and made sure we got it right the next day."

His attention to detail is laudable. However, Diddy, despite his huge chart success . . .

he has had more hit singles than any other rapper in the past decade, and more Billboard success than any other hip hop producer . . . has never been the world's most accomplished rapper.

So how does he view himself as a performer?

"I'm not going to say that, compared to everyone else, I'm the best, " he says. "I see myself more as PT Barnum. I'm the ringleader of the circus: the producer; the entertainer; the dancer; the vibe motivator. I don't really compete with the other guys who say, 'I'm going to lyrically massacre you'. I just like to get people moving and grooving.

"But look at my career in black and white. It's undisputable.

Look on Billboard at the three pages of hits I've had. I'm not being braggadocious, it's just important that you state the facts when you talking about someone, and what they mean, and who they are."

The Puff Puff Pass the Snoop Tour plays Dublin on Saturday 31 March and Sunday 1 April