Why has nobody told me about polo before???? Oh yes, I forgot, because I write for a Communist newspaper that probably doesn't approve of it. I'm so wasted in these pages. Somebody please tell the editor of The Daily Telegraph that I'm available for an extortionate fee.... Only joking, my proletarian chums! I wouldn't leave you even if you wanted me to (which you don't, right?) I enjoy tutoring you on the lives of the rich and successful, it must make such a pleasant change from the lunatic rantings of Johann Hari and his fellow revolutionaries.
I know I am secretly why you buy this paper, but don't worry, I won't tell anyone. By the way, I think I'm in with Catherine Townsend. It's a great idea because if I manage to get her into the Cooperdome she will obviously write about nothing else but the Cooper bedside manner and then I'll have two pages devoted to me. Maybe I could develop this further and go for Yasmin Alibhai-Brown (no relation) and Deborah Orr? The Coops could sleep with the whole newspaper ...maybe not. Sorry I'm on heat right now thinking about Townsend. Where was I? Oh yes, polo, stick with me comrades...
Ben plays polo with his younger brother Josh. They own a "string" of polo horses, and Ben says that it's more expensive than having an account with Pablo. I went down to a cocktail party that his club was having and, holy moly, what a crowd. I haven't seen so many hot chicks since I was casting for "The Adventures of the Hawaiian Tropic Volleyball Team" back in 2001. The men were a mix of very posh Argentines and very posh Brits – the type whose parents probably ordered their respective foot soldiers to kill each other when you guys had your last colonial fling in the Malvinas. This didn't seem to bother anybody as they all got on brilliantly – nothing focuses the mind more than trying to decide which "filly" to ride.
The women were all A1 breeding stock. I barely saw one under six foot and, for the Cooperman, it was a bit like wandering through a field of tall, beautiful poppies. Tall chicks dig shorter men – just ask Rod Stewart, who happened to be there surrounded by a platoon of Amazonian blondes. He's a nice guy and we chatted for ages. He loves my column and I love huge blondes, so we had lots to talk about. His current squeeze, Penny, has just been thrown off some reality show where she has been dancing and she's seriously upset about it. Every time Rod and I got nattering about something she'd wander over and give him the big "poor me" puppy-dog eyes. I don't know about Rod, but that needy stuff leaves me cold. Time to trade her in for a newer model, methinks.
Half-and-hour later and I'm enjoying talking to a very intelligent, young, six-foot lady about the pros and cons of DC and whether she'd sleep with him when Josh comes up and tells me that there is someone who wants to meet me. He is very insistent so I get the über-blonde to hold my drink – always a good ploy because, being British, she will wait and, if I can't be bothered to return, I can always get a new one. Josh leads me through the chortling throng to a little alcove that I hadn't noticed before. Sitting in there with three hot, giggling chicks is the Ginger Prince – Prince Harry of England, for Christ's sake. I'd briefly met him at the God-awful Diana gig at Wembley and made a bad joke about him chickening out of Iraq but he seemed to have forgotten all about this... phew.
Josh and I sat down opposite him and we started on one of the many bottles of champagne laid out in front of the Prince – it was all quite gangsta' and I was impressed. Then I started remembering all the terrible things that I'd written about his mom and the concert in this column and got worried. It soon became clear, however, that the Ginger Prince was not much of a "reader."
How can I put this? He's not the sharpest tool in the DIY box. Josh whispered to me that he had just split-up with his long-term floozy and that's why there were more chicks round him than there are notches on the Cooper Casting Couch. The Ginger Prince comes up for air and asks me what I do? I tell him that I'm a movie producer and he gets real excited. We spend the next 10 minutes talking about Die Hard – the Ginger Prince LOVES Die Hard. He asks me whether I've ever met Bruce Willis, and I tell him the story about Bruce and the lady midget. He laughs like a hyena and I tell him another unprintable Bruce story that Dennis Hopper told me. We had a great night.
I had no idea that polo was such an amazing scene? Granted, I didn't see any polo, and I'm still not sure what it's all about, but this social set is "top hole" as Ben would say. Maybe I should get into it? It's like a candy store if I want to schmooze some finance for movies. Maybe I should even make a movie about polo? It's got everything a good flick needs – sex, machismo, money, royalty... horses. If I give Bruce Willis a part then maybe I can even get the Ginger Prince to cameo? I wonder if Maserati make polo ponies? Must give them a ring to find out? Cooper Out.