Wow, 2008 has started with a bang... well, several actually. Victoria is on fire at the moment – there's nothing quite like reunion sex... but I shouldn't be telling you this. You, apparently, don't want to hear about my fabulous sex life. At least that's what a couple of rather bitter emails announced last week. Mind you, they were from the sort of people whose most recent sexual experience was with a melon back in 1983. I love getting feedback, just don't expect me to take any notice of you. Sorry, but that's the way it is.
Anyhoo, apart from the great sex, things are really kicking right now. I was on the set of The Amy Winehouse Story all week and had a blast. I love being on set, it's a real trip and you can get what you want, when you want. We're filming in an area called Southgate, in north London, which is where the Winehouse grew up. I've never been there before, and why should I have? Ten minutes in the area was enough to make me realise why she'd hit the bottle so hard. The place is a shitpit – and I've been to south London, so I've got something to compare it with. I've got my own trailer on set and I've had lots of toys put in there, like a plasma, a fridge with beer and a golf cart to drive around in. I feel like Francis Ford Coppola.
Being on a film shoot isn't always as glamorous as it looks, however. Sometimes the actors forget their lines and the camera people do technical shit so you have to hang around for ages. Luckily someone gave me a Nintendo DS Lite for Christmas. I'm totally addicted to this Brain Training game that is supposed to make you really smart. I play it all the time and I'm getting better. My first "Brain Age" was 80 but I've got it down to 67 now. (I don't think Pablo helps the old brain cells, and I was always shit at math.)
I actually did an IQ test on Facebook the other day because Hugo sent it to me. I raced through it too fast and it came out as 88 which is ridiculous. The problem is that the score appears on your page so I had to do it about 10 more times and I got it up to 105 which is still not good.
I hate IQ tests. What the fuck do they tell you about anything? I've yet to meet anyone with a high IQ who has done well. They're always autistic fuck-ups who can play chess with 50 people at the same time but don't how to stand in a bar without wetting their pants.
We're still trying to cast the loser boyfriend for Winehouse as the last guy pulled out at the last minute because he was offered a semi-permanent role in The Bill. Big mistake. Front page of yesterday's Sun newspaper – "Bill's Reg slashes wrists". This guy Reg was apparently an old actor on the programme who got canned and tried to kill himself. I got the thing framed at a quick-frame store next to the office and had it biked over to our guy, with a message wishing him the best of luck. Asshole.
I had to look after H-F two nights ago when I got back from the set. I just wanted to kick back, ring Pablo and hit the Electric but Victoria was off to some charity thing with Trinny (who now hates me and disapproves of her getting back with me). Trinny turns up at the door and ignores me totally. I'm not taking this shit from some stupid fashion princess and we end up in a huge argument.
I tell her that her TV show with Susannah is the worst thing on television and that she has the screen presence of a demented pitchfork. She does not like conflict and tries to shut me down but I won't stop. I tell her that if H-F grows up and ever dates a woman like her then I'd disown him. She starts going on about how me disowning him would be the best thing that could happen to him. I want to hit her over the head with a whisky bottle but Victoria arrives in the nick of time and they leave with some creepy Italian dude.
H-F is screaming because he doesn't like raised voices and I long for the return of the Ukrainian nanny, for several reasons. I put H-F in front of the plasma and we watch Tom and Jerry which, when you're watching with a child, becomes incredibly violent. It's unbelievable the shit that goes on and I start worrying that he will copy what the cat or the mouse do and start sticking his fingers in a plug or pour boiling water over himself.
I'm so freaked out that the next day I get this "baby safety' guy to come and look over the Cooperdome. Big mistake. This guy is a total, A1, fuckhead and gets on his hands and knees and starts crawling around the place like he's a baby – he says it's the best way to see dangers from a child's perspective. One hour later and this guy has drawn up a list as long as my dick and it's going to cost £1,800 to totally safeproof the place. I come to my senses and kick him out. I'll take the risk. I never had any of this shit as a kid and I was OK.
Go to go do my daily Brain Train – want to reach 60 by next week. Cooper Out.