Cooper Brown: He's Out There

'If you've got a problem with my lifestyle then come and knock on my door and tell me about it'
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The Independent Online

Things have come to a head with my neighbours. Although the Cooperdome is a mega-pad, I still have to suffer the indignity of people living nearby. It's the price you have to pay in a big city unless you're royalty. Victoria has made me promise that we won't have any neighbours when (and if) we move in with each other. I told her that would be fine as long as she handed over the cash for an appropriate place. All that however, is in the dim and distant future. I have more pressing problems right now.

The wall that I share with next door is called a "party wall". I know this because I've just received a long and unpleasant letter from my neighbours complaining about noise from the parties at the Cooperdome and informing me of what action they have taken. They have apparently been in touch with the council who have come out seven times with equipment to monitor the noise. The letter informs me that they are now in a position to prosecute.

This is the first I've heard of all this apart from some pathetic banging on the "party wall" during a couple of late-night Cooper get-togethers. It's typical Brit cowardice. If you've got a problem with my lifestyle then come and knock on my door and tell me about it. Instead these ass-wipes skulk around like rats snitching me up to some pen-pusher at the council. This being the same racist council that refused me permission to build a garage and extend my roof terrace. Ben says that they're all frickin' Commies and it's an anti-American thing. I'm going to be prosecuted so I decide to go round and meet these "neighbours" and talk the thing out. I wait until I hear that they're in and then ring their doorbell. I can hear them whispering and moving about. I even see an eyeball in their little spy-hole in the door. They don't answer but I'm not going anywhere. I ring the bell continuously. If these fucks want noise, I'll give it to them. Finally the guy, some kind of city hot-shot, starts talking through the door.

"Please go away, we've got nothing to say to you."

I'm like, well, excuse me, but I think we do since you snitched on me to the council. She starts getting hysterical. "We have a perfect right, we can't sleep, you live like an animal, my wife is calling the police." This guy is insane. I ask him whether it wouldn't be simpler to talk face to face and sort something out rather than have to resort to legal proceedings?

"You live like an animal and we want no contact with you and we hope that you get evicted as soon as possible."

These are the kind of people that I'm dealing with. In LA people have been shot for less but over here the law seems to be completely on their side. As far as I'm concerned, if you want peace and quiet then move to the country. That's what it's for.

I ring Ben and ask him for advice. He gets straight to the point: "You've got several options - either we blast them out with a three-day party. If they leave then you've got no problems. Or I can get some of the Chelsea boys to have a quiet word in their ear." I often marvel at Ben. This is a guy who went to Oxford and is one of the richest people I know but he has connections and attitudes more suitable to a Mafiosi. It's always useful to have a friend like him but I didn't really think his unique solutions to this particular problem were pertinent this time.

I decide to bite the bullet and launch a charm offensive after Victoria tells me that friends of hers had their stereo confiscated and got slammed with a huge fine. I don't mind fines and shit but I can't stand "officials" coming into my personal space.

So I go to the public toilets opposite Tom's Deli where there's the world's most expensive flower shop. I buy £200 worth of lilies (technically the death flower but they wouldn't know that) and get them all wrapped up in expensive brown paper. I head back and knock on the neighbours' door again. The chick doesn't work as far as I know so I figure I'll turn on the full Cooper charm and sort the matter out. She doesn't open the door for a bit but chicks can't resist flowers. She finally opens up.

She's a kind of librarian-looking chick who probably married her first boyfriend. I walk into this seriously plush pad and I turn on the full Cooper charm. Within five minutes she's put the flowers in water and opened a bottle of really good white wine. Turns out she's not too bad and we know a couple of people in common. I'm working overdrive and she starts getting a bit flirty. One thing leads to another. I'm terrible when I drink in the daytime, and we end up making out. It's such a typical situation. The real problem she has with my "lifestyle" is that she's stuck in some boring rut of a life and isn't on the inside. She's not exactly the Cooper type but it worked and they've now withdrawn the complaint. I'm not exactly sure how she's going to explain the flowers and the change of heart to the other half but that isn't my problem.

I told Victoria - I had to. I told her it was necessary business. She wasn't that cool about it but it does mean that I don't have to go down to the country for a while. I'm throwing a party this weekend, who knows, I might even invite the neighbours? Cooper Out.

scoopercooper@gmail.com; www.myspace.com/scoopercooper

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