Great excitement in the Brown household – we have a very important US VIP coming round for dinner later this week. I would love to tell you who it is but I would have to kill you and that would involve costly legal protection for me, and nobody wants that.
Victoria has gone quite weak at the knees and has pretty much bought everything available in Whole Foods, as well as hiring a sushi chef for the evening. I thought the whole point with sushi is that it’s not cooked… so it’s raw… so we don’t need some kamikaze rip-off merchant cluttering up the bank account.
I was dispatched to this off-licence in Notting Hill that seems to be under the impression that they’re something special. It was the usual crap: “What sort of wine is sir looking for?” slimed the faux- French asshole. “Sir… is looking for something that isn’t going to require a remortgage and tastes OK…” “If I could, I would point you in the direction of this lovely little chateau?”continued Mr Can’t- Afford-a-Tie.
The only place this guy would point me to if he had a chance was the back room for an attempt on the Coop’s rear virginity. I left with a case of wine that would pay for a three-week sex holiday in the Philippines. I need an “in” from this Hollywood asshole for a project I’m putting together. The problem is, I’m not good at brown-nosing; luckily, being British, Victoria is a specialist. Cooper Out.