Cooper Brown: He's Out There

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The Independent Online

Victoria is starting to give me serious hassle about the amount of time we spend together. Apparently I prefer to go out with other people more and don't "prioritise" her time. Sounds like somebody has been watching too much of that loathsome programme The Wright Stuff again. She is weirdly obsessed with the presenter, the slimy Matthew Wright. God knows why.

I suggested that she ring him up and get him to take her out, but she went mental with me and then went really quiet, which is far worse – this means she actually is upset, and I need to do something.

I ring Ben – who else? He suggests that I slip some ketamine in her breakfast and I won't have any problems for a couple of days. I decide against this plan of action and ring Fenella, an old friend of Victoria's from school who goes by the name of "Womble". I ask "Womble" what she thinks might cheer Victoria up and she gets all excited about planning a big West End night for us both. The only type of West End night that I enjoy is an all-nighter at the Groucho, but this is not going to do the trick with my beloved so, sadly, I listen to "Womble".

She suggests a shopping trip down New Bond Street, followed by cocktails, then a play, and then dinner somewhere swanky. It sounds doable, but plays are very much not my thing so I ring the gay guy at the production office and he recommends a musical about Frankie Valli. My heart is already sinking, but I buy the tickets (for the same price that I could buy a nice condo in Myrtle Beach) and book the restaurant.

We leave H-F with this new "manny" that Victoria has hired. Since the incident with our Ukrainian help (when I was discovered on a bit of a "Rough Guide" tour of her more remote regions), female help has been banned in our house. The "manny" is a male child-carer who has all the qualifications but... it just doesn't feel right.

It's like when you go to hospital and there's a male nurse. You know he's just as good as the chick, etc, but you do wonder what chain of events in his life have led him down this path? Does he honestly tell his friends down the pub what he does?

To be honest, he doesn't really look like the kind of guy who goes down the pub – which is good, because I don't want another alcoholic looking after my kid – but it's just not right. The "manny" is called Alex and he is from some fucked-up background in the North. It goes without saying that Victoria loves him and I have to pretend not to be threatened by another man looking after my son and heir. What a fucking weird world we inhabit.

So we leave Alex watching Paul O'Grady and head off shopping. We end up in Chanel, where the doormen are as bad as a top nightclub. They really inspect you before unlocking the door and this makes you want to spend big time to prove to them how wrong they were about you. I end up buying one of these new rings with diamonds and black bits that cost a fortune. Victoria, however, is totally thrilled, and we go to Sketch for some cocktails. I hate this place, with its dumb-ass, space-age washroom "pods". But when you have to go, you have to go. I end up stuck in a pod for a full 10 minutes, like the bassist in Spinal Tap.

Then we go to the musical. Oh my God, it was bad. I hate musicals anyway – but this was unbelievable. Four guys wailing away before suddenly jumping from conversation to song like it was totally normal. I look around the theatre, it's full of couples – pissed off, bankrupt guys sitting next to their overly dolled-up chicks, listening to four assholes wail on about the Fifties. Was this what everyone died for in WW2? I don't think so.

Predictably, Victoria loved the whole thing and couldn't stop talking about it through dinner. We went to the Wolseley and saw Piers Morgan going on about his new fitness regime in LA. I love Piers, he's a cool dude and very un-British. I can see why he's done so well in the US. Victoria totally fancies him, which is kind of annoying, but what can I say – she loves assholes.

As we are about to leave, there's a fantastic scene outside. Morgan gets flashed by the paparazzi and some woman nearby is epileptic and starts having a fit from the lights. Morgan doesn't know what to do and it's total chaos. It's never a dull night out in the West End.

We hit the Groucho for a couple of mojitos before heading back to the Cooperdome for some pre-marital action – or so I thought. We get back and there's been some tiny problem with H-F. The "manny" says he thinks he ate a bottle top but can't be sure. So Victoria stays up to keep watch over H-F. I tell her it is surely the "manny's" job, but she looks at me like I'm crazy. So I go to bed and have to listen to her go on and on about the musical to the "manny". He turns out to be crazy about musicals (what a surprise!) and so they don't stop for a good couple of hours... Five hundred pounds gone to waste. It's so much easier being single, might check out Catherine Townsend online. Cooper Out.

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