Summer is gradually coming to an end. The Coop knows this because all the beautiful chicks are starting to return from their sugar daddies' estates in hotter climes, and London is getting prettier again. I went to a seriously top-people's party in Notting Hill Gate last night. Everyone was tanned and happy and fabulous. I was in my element.
There's a very short period of time when English chicks are by far the hottest in the world. It's this weird time between end of holidays and all back to work, until the ski slopes open. What happens to them for the rest of the year, I don't really know, I guess they just wrap up and get fat, but right now, they're ripe...
Anyhoo, I'm at this VIP party and trying to outdo everyone on vacation stories. I fib a little and mention Nantucket and Scottsdale and... Portofino... Actually I fib a whole lot, but what can I do? Victoria has been busy and we've got a kid and... you just can't get away anywhere proper in these circumstances. Unbelievably, Victoria has joined me for the evening and I'm on my best behaviour as I'm trying to resume carnal relations as soon as possible.
She seems to have got the message and a score is looking good if I can just stay on the straight and narrow this evening. This is more difficult than it seems as there is a lot of "great skirt" about, as Ben would say. I spot Hugh Grant and we have a really good chat for a couple of minutes. He properly apologises for being a bit offish recently, and I immediately do the same for calling him an "asshole" in this column. The guy is a class act, and I've always said that. This country doesn't realise just how good an actor he is, and one day you might just wake up and smell the roses.
Hugh has to leave early as he has a dawn shoot but I'm not that put out as the place is a veritable smorgasbord of celebrity. I'm yakking away to an elderly (but sexy) blonde called Ulrika Jonsson (who, Victoria tells me, was something of a sex kitten 10 years ago), and she's really good fun. I'm starting to think about letting her have my number when I can't help noticing that her fading eyes are not locked on me but on something behind me.
"Oomigod... it's Prince!" she exclaims, as though she's nearly having an orgasm. I mishear her at first and am slightly disappointed that she's getting all excited over the overrated royals. I turn to see that she means "Prince" as in "Prince And The Revolution And The Ridiculous Adolescent Moustache". As in global rock star extraordinaire. Even I'm excited by his arrival post-gig. I manage to elbow the still-gasping Ulrika out of the way and position myself so that he will have to walk straight past me. As he does I stick out my hand and give him a "brother shake". The little purple dude smiles at me like a tiny, camp doll. I seize the opportunity.
"Yo, Mr Prince, I saw you play in Minneapolis once, you totally rocked..."
The high-heeled one looks pleased.
"Well, that's my home town so... you know... you've got to give it everything... bbbrrrhhh..." He speaks so softly that I can barely hear him. I try again.
"How you enjoying London? These Limeys are crazy mofos, right? We've got to stick together, huh?"
I lean forward to try to hear his response and get a faceful of strong Prince Musk. It's totally overpowering and I realise how he once tamed the fierce Apollonia. "It's nice, you know, I love this town... nice talking to you, man... gotta go..."
Prince wandered off towards a corner where two large men were waiting. Victoria comes running up to me totally goggle-eyed. "What were you talking to Prince about? How cool was that?" She was seriously impressed. I hinted that we know each other quite well from... well, way back. This was definitely going to get me laid. Good old Prince, it was the rub-off effect, no sloppy seconds for me.
"I want to talk to him. Please Coopy, pretty please. Introduce me." Victoria never calls me Coopy unless she's feeling horny. I had to get back to Prince.
"Follow me," I said, a little more confidently than I felt, since about seven enormous black dudes were now surrounding the tiny rock deity. I pushed through the crowd holding Victoria's sweaty hand, and suddenly there we somehow were, Victoria and I and Prince in a corner, all staring at each other.
"Mr Prince, this is Victoria, my fiancée. She's a big fan, she's a Limey..." I tried to look casual.
Prince stared appreciatively at Victoria and his eyes moved from head to toe and back again like a horse trader sizing up a purchase.
"You are fine, child... You been to see my gig?" The little fop was on cruise control.
"We were going to go but we've been out of town on loads of vacations... you know how it is, man..." I smiled at Prince and then at Victoria, but I'd definitely been frozen out of this conversation. Victoria was like some lovestruck puppy, and Prince was starting to do weird shit with his doe eyes. I realised that damage control was needed immediately, so I retreated from the corner with a protesting fiancée trying to unlock my vice-like grip.
I mentioned to Prince that we had to get home for our CHILD, and he seemed totally unfazed – and why wouldn't he? He could have anyone here, even Hugh Grant, if he wanted. He wasn't, however, going to have my Victoria. On the way home in the cab, I tested the waters to see whether I was in with a chance but she was furious – the moment had gone. Goddam Prince. As far as my love life is concerned, he's a pint-sized Purple Pain. Cooper Out.