It’s showtime – the Hollywood A-lister is coming round tonight and I’m still hung over from an amazing night out with Sally Bercow – the new Tory pin-up.
She sure is an amazing gal. She likes shorter men – her husband, the Speaker of the House of Commons, is even shorter than the Coop. She is clearly a woman of exceptional taste as well as beauty. I took her to the new Heston Blumenthal restaurant – Dinner – as I know the PR woman and jumped the six month waiting list. Best thing we had was the “meat fruit” and getting her to admit that she quite fancied George Osborne. Personally, I think he looks like some pasty-faced health hazard, but power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, unlike meat fruit, which seems to me to be the ultimate diarrhetic.
I had to excuse myself halfway through and ended up vomiting in a lift. Nobody saw me, thank God, and I slipped back in just in time to stop her disappearing with Giles Coren. I haven’t, therefore, been of much use to Victoria today as she rushes around ordering flowers and laying the table over and over again. She keeps asking me what I think. What I really think is that I should go down the pub with Ben, meet Pablo and then come back just when A-list turns up, but this is not on the menu. The sushi chef has started “cooking”his raw fish and the smell is unbearable. We have already nearly come to blows, as I caught him peeking at my computer instead of working. Cooper Out.