Cooper Brown: He's Out There

I'm in the south of France for a quick break with Victoria. It wasn't my idea, I hate France – but Victoria has started to get a little bit of bulimia back as pre-wedding nerves start to kick in and she needed a break.

Our non live-in nanny resigned last week and Victoria had to look after H-F on her own for three days until we got an agency chick in. It totally wiped her out. So we're staying at L'Hôtel du Cap which, I have to admit, is pretty cool. Hugh Grant told me to check it out and I wanted to surprise Victoria. Unfortunately, it turns out that she came here when she was younger with some other guy, so I can't get my mind off her banging this other dude when I'm trying to get my mojo on. Don't you hate that?

We go for a wander in the gardens and look down over the cliffs to the sea. There's a little boat bobbing about just offshore with two paparazzi on board, their long lenses trained on us. Sadly, they're not after a scoop of the Coop – they're just checking everyone out, looking for magazine fodder.

Victoria spotted Matthew Broderick in the dining room last night – apparently he's staying here while his wife, Sarah Jessica Parker, jaunts around Europe promoting the Sex and the City flick. We were supposed to go to the premiere, but came here instead. I gave the tickets to Ben and his new chick, Cara. He rang me up all excited because he'd managed to bang her in the washroom in the middle of the movie. He went to the after-show party and got chatted up by the really old one who still thinks she's hot. He said it was like being hit on by your Mom. It impressed Cara, though, and he had to slip away to the Groucho and do his business.

London all feels a long way away down here. It's almost relaxing, but I do seriously hate the French – even though I'm paying the equivalent of an annual working-class salary for a couple of days here, they still manage to stick their noses up like I smell of horse shit. I've got this totally awesome bag from the States that fits on all planes as hand luggage, but manages to get everything I need in it. It's great, but the porter guy looked at it like I'd handed him a plastic bag full of dog-shit.

Then, when we got to the room, he showed us where the television was (I'd have never figured that out), opened the windows to the balcony and gestured to the view like he was responsible for it and then hung around waiting for a tip. I've got really good with this sort of shit and just refuse to give them anything. If you give a large tip to a guy when you first arrive, you never see the bastard again anyway.

I went into the bathroom to hide, but the fucker wouldn't leave. Victoria went on to the balcony to pretend to look at the view but he followed her out there asking her whether "Madame would like anything else?" I finally lost it and came out and told him that "Madame" would very much like him to "fuck off". He looks totally shocked but did finally fuck off. (I must check that he doesn't double up in the restaurant, otherwise I'll have to check the food carefully before chowing down.)

We drive off into Antibes in the soft-top that I rented. I was more after a Mercedes or such-like – something a bit Cary Grant. Instead, I get a Citroë*Tuna Tin. It's tiny, and the "soft top" is a glorified sun-roof. They had nothing else, so we head off for a cruise down the Riviera in a box on wheels. We get to the port and wander about. There are some seriously cool gin palaces parked there and we look around to see if there's anyone we know. Sadly, there isn't.

We get a drink at a bar that has a lovely view over a stretch of sand with almost nothing but topless chicks on it. I could have stayed there all day, but Victoria quickly spots my interest and we move on. We have to go to a fucking Picasso museum. There's one of these bastards in every European city that I visit – it's insane. How many terrible drawings did this guy do? I hear he was busy banging everything that moved, so how did he find the time to doodle? We spend an hour in there as Victoria pretends that she's interested. It's classic "thick-chick-trying-to-be-lit" stuff.

We finally get out and we drive back to the hotel, where I start tucking into a couple of bottles of rosé. Half an hour in and we are joined at the next table by Broderick. The boat paps go crazy and I lean over to introduce myself, as we know a couple of the same people back in LA. He's sort of friendly but gives me the brush-off fairly quickly. Fucking asshole, I never thought he was all that anyway. Ferris Bueller's Day Off? Wow, that's an Oscar nomination right? Wrong!!! Ben said that what he saw of Sex and the City: The Movie, it was shit. Quelle surprise.

I do, however, have a pleasant surprise at the end of the evening when Victoria, a little worse for wear on cocktails, starts to get very amorous on the balcony. I can't help thinking about the paps on the boat, but get on with things in the end. All publicity is good publicity – right? Vive la France (not). Cooper Out.

facebook.com/profile.php?id=710642877