I'm still feeling 20/20 this week so it looks like my black dog has retreated back into the kennels. Hooray - it means I can get on with being The Cooper rather than lounging around in bed playing at being Morrissey on an up day.
I took the Quattroporte for a spin down to Oxford. I'd never been there and had always wanted to visit. When I was at Berkeley, there was a scholarship up for offer that would have let me enrol there for a year, everything paid. It's quite common for great Americans to do this kind of thing- Chelsea Clinton did it a couple of years back and it looks great on a resumé.
At the end, it was me against this other jerk, some computer boffin who'd just invented a new language for a home PC system. I couldn't understand a word of what he'd achieved and said so quite forthrightly in my final interview. I came out very clear and honest, unlike nerd-boy. I told the panel, who'd themselves flown out for a freebie in 'Frisco, that the only reason anyone wanted one of these scholarships was to look "worldy" and to bang as many English chicks as possible whilst playing the lord of the manor for a year. I then lied and told them that five generations of Browns had been to Oxford and that I hoped that they wouldn't let the side down? The main guy asked me what college my "ancestors" had been to and I fucked up big time. I mumbled something about Trinity College. I'd just seen something about it on some TV drama and they all started murmuring and I knew that the game was up. Turns out that Trinity is in Cambridge. I should have done my research and I would have walked in, easy. As things turned out though, I'm glad that I didn't go. The majority of people I've met over here who did "Oxbridge" are gay Communists. There's nothing wrong with that if that's your deal, but it's just not for the Cooperman.
So anyway, I drive down there as I've been invited to talk to a "Senior Common Room" who've kind of adopted the Coop as a bit of a hero. They've written to me about seven times asking me down so I finally figured, why not? I park the Quattroporte in the main square and immediately get hassled by some parking Nazi. I thought these guys only existed to annoy Londoners? Turns out that they're even nastier in the provinces. This guy starts going on about how I can't park on a double-yellow line and that I'm outside the big library. I tell him who I am and that I'm a guest of students who could probably have him removed from his job if he doesn't fuck off and leave me alone. You could see the guy just hated the fact that I had a cool car. He backed off a tad and told me that it was my decision as to what I did. I told him that he would be publicly garrotted if the car was touched and I think that he got the message.
The college "porter" took me to this library where there were about 50 Cooper fans assembled and we had a really cool discussion about the state of the nation and the upcoming Tory victory. It was heartening to find that, unlike most students, they weren't just knee-jerk left-wingers. A lot of them had originally agreed with the invasion of Iraq but any respect for Blair (or Bliar, as they kept calling him) had now gone. I told them that I'd nearly come to Oxford and they all cheered but what they seemed really interested in was to see a picture of Victoria.
I carry a couple of little Polaroids of her from a private session but didn't really want to share those with the group. In the end I got her up on a video link on Skype. She was at work and it was all quite fun until these little bastards started getting very cheeky and asking to see her boobs.
In some ways students are exactly the same the world over. I turned off the transmission and ended the session there. We all filed out of the college and a couple of the more lively students took me to a pub called The Bear where we proceeded to get completely assholed. I can't remember much of what happened next. I know that we went to some nightclub because I've got an indelible tattoo on my wrist telling me so. I woke up the next morning on the floor of someone's bedroom. They weren't there and there was a message on the mirror written in lipstick saying "Welcome to the Aids club". Now I've heard of this story before so I'm not sure if someone was trying to fuck with my head or just being funny? It seemed to be a guy's room but I have absolutely no idea of what went on? Suffice to say that what happens in Oxford stays in Oxford. If anyone was around that night and can fill me in on what did go on, I'd be most appreciative? At least I'm not a Communist. I returned to where I'd left the Quattroporte, only to find that the Nazi had had it towed away. I wasted two precious hours and £125 to get it back. So I went to McDonald's, bought a large milkshake and drove around the city for three hours until I spotted the bastard. I pulled up right next to him and the grin he gave me as he recognised the car was quickly wiped off his ugly face when he got a vanilla smoothie in the chops. I shan't be returning to Oxford for a while. I prefer the safety of west London. Cooper Out.Reuse content