'It's crazy that I have to worry about the sticker lady. In the States I could just shoot her'
Victoria is livid at what I did to the Uruguayan bond dealer. The slimeball was trying to hit on her so I texted him and sent him off on a wild goose chase to the Fat Duck at Bray. About 11pm he rang Victoria and started calling her a prick-tease. The loser gaucho went mental with her and she didn't have a clue what he was on about.
It seems to me that, if you flirt outrageously with someone and then give them your phone number, your fiance has a perfect right to inflict revenge. Apparently not - I am the bad guy. I must be punished - story of my life. I've actually got a persecution complex at the moment. Every morning I now have to go through an elaborate "Green Berets" battle plan to outwit the hideous woman who keeps putting rude stickers on my Quattroporte. The last batch said: "The owner of this car is a rapist." What has happened to this chick to make her behave like this... and why pick on me?
I now have to park my car in a different street every night to try and put her off the scent. It's crazy that I have to worry about this kind of thing. In the States I could just shoot her and that would be the end of it. But not here, oh no. You can't even buy a decent BB gun here. I used to have so many BB guns when I was a kid. The cool thing about them is that, when you get really drunk and start messing about with them, you can't really kill anyone. I used to sit on the cliffs, high above the Pacific and try to hit the trawlermen coming back into port. I only ever hit one that I know of but it was cool fun. If I had a decent BB over here then I could hole up in a makeshift sniper's nest and take the hairy sticker chick out the moment she came round the corner. What I don't understand is that Ben has four shotguns. He is allowed those but I can't have a BB gun. Somebody explain this to me?
Things have got to be different once DC gets in. I was longing for an election but Grizzly Brown has chickened out and we all have to pretend that Socialism has not been completely defeated as an ideology for the next two years. I went to a drinks party a couple of days ago and Sam - Mrs DC - was there. She said that DC was seriously annoyed about the deal as he can only get into more trouble while we wait for Grizzly. Goddamn, she is a sexy and classy piece of ass! Despite being a signed-up Tory, I'd jump her given half the chance. She gave me a cool present of a leather case for my US passport from this posh place she works at. I tried not to look too excited but I think she knows I've got the hots for her. I'm not the only one who thinks that either. There were a bunch of us hungry bees round the honeypot all evening. DC had better not work too late...
I took Victoria out to dinner last night to try and smooth over the fact that she'd chatted up a Uruguayan - yeah, I don't get it either! We went to The Ivy. They now take my calls and give me late bookings, which just shows that I must be making waves over here. We got a good table and I could see that Victoria was really pumped at being with the in-crowd. We looked round the room and it was pretty celeb-packed. I saw Melvyn Bragg and Lord Lloyd Webber on one table, a couple of Arsenal soccer players that neither of us knew the names of and, very near us, Jeremy Clarkson and the guy who nearly died in the big car crash on Top Gear.
I quite like Clarkson, he's a guy who speaks his mind and doesn't give a damn about what anyone else thinks (remind you of anyone?). I down a couple of good bottles of Billecart-Salmon Rose and, suitably fuelled, I stagger over to his table and sit down. I push the small guy out of the way a bit too aggressively and he gets all shirty but Clarkson laughs. I tell Clarkson that we need to speak as he is stealing my thunder and that I'm a great driver and all about the lesbian sticker lady... it all comes pouring out and it's like I'm at a therapist or something.
He thinks I'm hilarious and we really get on and I demand that he has me on Top Gear and he tells me that he'll think about it. I get great points for the Quattroporte from him and I call Victoria over because she's looking all bored and lonely and I don't want her hooking up with any more South Americans. So I'm continuing talking away to Clarkson when I notice that the little guy who was in an accident is coming on all jiggy with Victoria.
I turn round and give him a piece of my mind and Clarkson collapses with laughter again... we're having a great time and everyone in the place is watching us, apart from Melvyn Bragg who is, for some reason, weeping at his table. I take the check for all of us and head off to the Groucho having high-fived Clarkson. Victoria and I sit in a corner in the top bar and nurse huge brandies. I think she likes me fighting over her as she's all frisky again. I can't be bothered to go back to the Cooperdome so we get a room at the club. It's good to be the king. Cooper out.