The A-lister has come and gone. He turned up an hour-and-a-half late for dinner and the sushi chef was going crazy. I told him to cool it as it was hardly going to go cold. One of the givens of being an A-Lister is that you are late. If you turn up on time you are a loser.
He was creepily charming and Victoria, predictably, totally fell for him. By dessert she was like a slavering puppy and it was getting a little embarrassing. I slipped onto the balcony for a cigarette and a little chat with Pablo. As I stood outside, freezing my cojones off – I spotted lesbian sticker lady. She was brazen as anything – standing there in her steel-capped shoes and stupid mac, slapping sticker after sticker all over the windscreen of my Quattroporte. I went ape – I’d had run-ins with her over the years but I’d never actually caught her “in flagrante”.
I’m screaming blue murder at her and I throw two potplants that very nearly hit their mark. She jumps like a startled rabbit and hobbles off. Meanwhile I’m still screaming shit and suddenly the doors open from the flat and A-Lister comes out. I lose it and tell him I thought his last movie was about as deep as Sesame Street with more Muppets involved. He storms off in a huff and I’m on the couch again… that’s showbiz. Cooper