What's with this heat? This is worse than LA. I was all prepared for the pea-soupers and months of rain, and suddenly I'm in danger of getting malaria. It's weird seeing the public parks in London - everyone just strips off and lies down in rows like in some suicidal burns unit. (Note to the UK from Cooper: everybody relax, global warming's here to stay and there's gonna be plenty of sun for everybody. My fellow countrymen have seen to that, no need to thank me.)
Seriously though, London ROCKS in this weather. Where do all the hot chicks hang out in the cold snaps? Victoria won't let me out on my own. I'm having a problem keeping my tongue in my mouth, and it hasn't gone unnoticed by her. She's been stressed out enough this week as she had her big birthday party coming up. On Thursday she went to what seems to be the world's most expensive hairdresser for the day, so I managed to slip away and my friend Ben took me to Wimbledon.
Turns out that if you don't know Ben then you're not worth knowing. This is good news for me and we had an incredible day. We didn't see much tennis, but who cares? We had two great seats on Centre Court that I think we spent a grand total of 10 minutes in all day. We cruised from tent to tent in a haze of champagne, Blackberries at the ready for exchanged phone numbers. We met some friends of Ben's ex, Clara, one of whom was the gorgeous Elle Macpherson. I have to admit I was rather smitten. I'd met her once before at a screening in Bel-Air, but I'd forgotten just what a magnificent chick she is, all legs and teeth and smart as well. We had a chat about the whole Iraq deal (that is obviously all our fault, nothing to do with you guys, no really!) and then she filled me in a about David Cameron, your new political pin-up. I can tell you straight that his profile in the States is less than zero. Not that Gordon Brown gets a ticker-tape parade either. Makes no real difference to me who gets in here, as long as we keep the hippies out of the White House.
Elle tells me that she knows Cameron and invites me to a dinner party next month that he's going to be at. Looks like Coop's got a scoop again! In LA you'd never hang out with politicians as they're all Little League assholes apart from Arnie, and he's up in Sacramento and nothing's worth going there.
Ben says Cameron's cool so I Wikipedia him and guess what? We share the same birthday - 9 October 1966. Cool huh! I've only ever known two other people who were born on exactly the same day as me - one was a Korean geek at college and the other is my dad's dentist who's an overpaid asshole. I think it's supposed to be really good luck in Shintoism to know your date mate as you're supposed to be able to repel your death or something like that. David, if you're reading this, Cooper's coming to dinner and we're going to repel our death dates, cool huh!
So Victoria's birthday party is the biggest thing I've been to since I got here. It was seriously A-bling - the amount of sterling that Daddy threw at it made it toot. Who did I meet? I saw Kate Moss, talked to the ugly one from Oasis, danced with a HOT Brazilian and I met Bob Geldof's daughter, called (get this!) Peaches. Seriously! This is a girl who seems to have done quite a lot for someone of her age. Talk about precocious, She was like one of those Beverly Hills kids who live their whole lives by 15 and are thinking about Buddhism already. I really admire her father for the things he's done in Africa. Anger, when channelled intelligently can be an incredible energy, just ask Donald Rumsfeld (only kidding). Sir Bob lives near Victoria in Chelsea, if you see what I mean. It gets confusing as they're both areas of London as well as names of chicks. Everyone seems to live near her in this town, so who the hell's living near me? Not Peaches apparently. She plays the cool card on me but she can't resist the movie connection. She starts trying to pitch me this movie idea about five over-privileged kids living in a big house in London who party hard until they get bored of their lives and go off to Iraq to be a kind of preppie A-Team. It actually sounded pretty cool, but I wasn't going to let her know that. I gave her my card and told to her to ring me. Problem was that I forgot it was the dummy. I actually meant to give her the real one but I got confused, so she got a Cooper brush-off. Bet she rings me, though!
Towards the end of the evening I had a really bad scene with Victoria's dad. I'd hit the caipirinhas a little hard and was dancing like a freakass to this French DJ when Daddy comes straight up to me on the dancefloor and starts eyeballing me. Apparently the party is for Victoria and I'm behaving like an idiot, trying to be the centre of attention and Victoria's really upset. What the fuck this has to do with him, I know not. Daddy is seriously out of order and I nearly punch him. Cool move, Coop.
The whole party finished way too late and we went back to someone's house that Victoria had gone to school with. She was in tears and it was all a bit heavy. On the plus side, there was royalty there, Princess Beatrice, one of Fergie's kids (am I allowed to say that?). We all stayed up until dawn talking crap, what else is new, huh? God Save the Queen.