I'm in Marrakech, staying at a palace that's owned by my friend Ben's family. You've got to see this place - it's unbelievable - servants and cooks and chauffeurs, the real deal, like the Empire never disappeared. Ben and I came over here with Pete Doherty and his crew. Sadly, we haven't been able to meet up with them since we arrived because they've all gone up into the Atlas Mountains to some health retreat. I thought we were here for a decadent trip down bacchanalian alleys, if you know what I mean?
As it is, everyone seems to be on some spiritual rehab trip and Ben and I are left to our own devices. This is a dangerous thing to do. I'm really trying to be a better person now that I'm an expectant father but, to be honest, there's not really that much for me to do during the nine months apart from lie about how beautiful Victoria looks as her body swells to the size of a small mountain.
She should move out to Marrakech, as women here wear potato sacks with eye-holes and you can't tell if they're anorexic or pregnant. The only thing a guy gets get to look at is the eyes. I presume that "nice eyelashes" is the best a man can do when complimenting a Moroccan woman. Marriage over here must be a kind of Russian roulette where you try to get your intended into a strong wind to see if you can work out a vague body shape and then plump for the nicest eyes. Frightening stuff!!
Ben and I quickly decided to hang with Europeans, it's a lot easier. We got hooked up with some German girls on the first night and ended up at a huge club complex a way out of town. You'd never guess that you were in an Islamic dictatorship. It was insane, huge tikki torches, five-star restaurant and double dance floors over swimming pools. This place rocked. I don't have the problem with Germans that you Brits do. Ben really hates them and can barely bring himself to speak to one. He did manage to, however, when a huge-breasted Helga started giving him the eye. There are certain things that can thaw any geo-political situation. The next night we got a bit more adventurous and were taken deep into the medina by some local guy we'd met at the club. He promised us he knew a secret location that hardly any tourists got to and it was just what we were looking for. We weren't that sure what we were looking for ourselves but decided to go along for the ride. Big mistake.
This guy took us deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of alleys while more and more frightening-looking bearded dudes started staring at us through holes in big wooden doors. Cooper the hostage - I could see it now. It would be great for the career and a good movie pitch as long as they didn't whip out the knives and lop my clean and serene head off. Just as we're thinking of an escape plan our guide sweeps us through this enormous studded door and we're in an über-cool courtyard of a house with a small pool in the middle and about 10 people lying around on cushions and carpets smoking vast pipes of Moroccan hashish. It's like something out of A Thousand and One Nights (I haven't read it, but you know what I mean).
Ben gives me that big relaxed grin of his and we lie down while this belly-dancing babe brings us big things of mint tea and two huge glass bongs. We start puffing away and I'm soon in la-la land having amazing dreams of naked belly dancers surrounding Ali Cooper, pasha of all he surveys. I don't know how long we were there for but it must have been ages. I float off into complete cloud cuckooland.
I'm just about to enter the harem when I wake up with Ben shaking me violently. I open my eyes to see him, his face all puffed and bloody with a torn shirt and he's staring at me like a madman. I look around and realise that we're lying on the ground in a dark corner of a creepy looking alley. I check my pockets - my wallet, phone, everything is gone. Same with Ben. He's looking really hassled and I can see that he's in far worse shape than me. I'm still not sure what actually happened to him but, I've seen Midnight Express, and I'm not going to inquire further unless he tells me.
We eventually found a kid who agreed to guide us back to Ben's place. When we got there, Ben went really weird and locked himself in his room. I started packing straight away. I had to get out of this place and fast. I tried to contact the guy looking after the Pete Doherty group but he didn't want to know. I eventually managed to talk to Ben under his door. It was really weird, I could see one crazed eye staring out at me over the tiles and he'd clearly been crying. Something really bad happened to him back there and the Coop got away with it. Mental note: do not go abroad again, not to the Third World anyways. Shit happens to me whenever I leave the UK. I've got to go back to the States soon for a family matter and I'm terrified something else is going to kick off there. Victoria really wants to come with me but I don't want her to. Northern California is no place for me, let alone for a posh, pregnant, princess. In the words of the Clash - "Fuck the Casbah". I'm out of here. Cooper out.