Typical dumb letter in this paper this week from some asswipe who thinks that my hanging out with DC and Sam is one of the "best reasons not to vote Tory". Very funny, ho-ho-ho, God my sides are splitting. I've got a sneaking feeling that he wouldn't vote Tory if Uncle Joe Stalin took over the party, so I'm hardly quaking in my Prada boots.
I really don't get the sort of person who writes in to a newspaper. They're the same breed of pedants who've started putting really sticky notices all over the windscreen of my Quattroporte telling me: "You are a dangerous driver, you are a menace to our children, SLOW DOWN!!". What kind of fuckwit has the time to print up these kind of things, especially to stick all over my car? I presume that they object to me having a nice car.
That's the real problem in the UK, this seething bitterness at everyone who is doing well – tall-daisy syndrome. That, for your information, is why I support DC. He's all about allowing people to do what the fuck they like without the state standing over their shoulders and sticking sticky bits of paper to their foreheads every time they do anything remotely interesting. Also, he's totally up for people making as much money as they can and not having to then hand the whole lot back to people whose main job in life seems to be opening a can of glue and taking a big sniff.
Speaking of which... the Amy Winehouse biopic is getting loads of interest already. God, I love drug-addled superstars – they're guaranteed bankers. I've managed to get a lot of the team off The Paris Hilton Story to come on board, so the Cooperman is seriously busy at the moment, what with all the stuff happening. Now, if I can just get DC to cameo in the movie, it'll give him instant credibility and it'll be top publicity...
Only kidding, even I know my limits. Might as well ask though, you never know. Actually, Sam would make a good Amy Winehouse – she's got a tattoo and she's sexy. I've never managed to work out whether I think Winehouse is sexy or not. One minute she's like this cartoon, vampy sex goddess, and the next she's this blood-spattered crackhead. I guess that's what makes her so intriguing.
Victoria is in Ireland at her friend Hester's family pile. Hester is known to one and all as "Bucket", and she's a bit of a party girl. Victoria loves staying at her place (it's the third-biggest house in the country), but I can't be dealing with it so I've stayed here with H-F.
We went out for lunch together yesterday to Carluccio's, which is just down the road from the Cooperdome. Carluccio is this huge, fat Italian chef who looks like he's been fired out of a grizzly bear's ass, but I love his deli places. They've got yummy eggplant and pasta dishes, easy stuff for the kid, and big airy tables where I can sit and read the paper while H-F charms the Milfs.
And this place is Milf Central, let me tell you. At any time of the day there are a gaggle of about six or seven posh, rich beauties rocking their immaculate beige Maclarens containing kids called Honor, Poppy, Hope and Jasper. They sit there with perfect honey hair and heaving bosoms, taking a break from a hard day's shoe shopping. I love sitting near them, reading the Indy, preferably one with me on the masthead (been a while, by the way – what's a guy gotta do?), and listening in.
"Ya, Angus has just been offered the Hong Kong branch, huge money, but... I don't know."
"Oh, come on, it would be great!!! You could get a house in Phuket next to Antonia's, and he could join you at weekends. And the shopping's heaven."
"Ya, totally, we said no to New York, but if Jamie was offered Hong Kong, I'd go like a shot."
"Did anyone see that programme with Bear Grylls? God, what a sexpot! I wish he'd take me to Hong Kong!"
Then, sadly, just as I get into a position where I can see down one of their jumpers and get a good nipple shot, H-F projectile-vomits over Amelia or Mathilda, and it's back to the baby grind. I meet up with Kasya and hand him over to be cleaned and amused.
I need some ME time, so I wander off towards Tom's Deli where I bump into Peaches Geldof, whom I haven't seen for quite a while. She used to hassle me quite a bit as she wanted to get into the movies. To be honest, life seems to be taking its toll on her and she's only about 18. There might, however, be something for her in the Winehouse project, as she is exactly the sort of bright young thing that Amy is attracted to. I tell her about it and she suddenly goes mental with me and starts calling me a parasite. She claims that I'm living off someone else's misfortune and that I should be ashamed of myself. I'm nearly tempted to do a double-header and ask her whether she wants to join the Tories but think better of it. I tell her to fuck off and she slaps me.
We get paparazzied just as this is happening. DC warned me that I was now fair game, but this was ridiculous. I went up to the guy and told him to erase the photos. He told me to take a hike so I grabbed his camera and smashed it on the floor. The memory card popped out and I grabbed it and ran.
Amy Winehouse would have been proud of me, not so sure about DC. Just another glorious day in Cloud Cuckoo Land. Cooper Out.
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