Cooper Brown: He's Out There

I went to a London studio's Oscar party this week. What a waste of time that was. By the time Daniel Gay-Lewis won his Oscar I'd done so much Pablo that I thought I'd won. I started screaming and shouting and gave an impromptu speech to the assembled group of rubbish UK movie execs who couldn't afford a flight to the US. I can't remember much more, but I was apparently thrown out on my ass and some guy who had something to do with Atonement tried to pick a fight but he was then hit by his girlfriend, who was seeing her whole rosy LA future going up in flames as they didn't win a single thing.

I actually met Kiera Knightley once, at Hugh Grant's place. He was coming on to her like it was his last night on earth. To her credit she rebuffed him but, boy, is she a dullard. I spent half an hour of my precious life talking to her about movie "grammar" as she desperately tried to impress on me that she wasn't your ordinary half-posh Brit actress type (which she is). I ended up losing her in the Groucho after we all piled in there at half one and demanded what Hugh called a "lock-in". The Groucho refused and I found this dive called Gerry's down the street that's open until three where I managed to bang a much less well-known actress who had her own sexual grammar.

When I lived in LA I went to the actual Oscars, twice. You simply cannot beat that evening. I took Victoria to them on our second date. (Our first date was at a Taco Bell in Malibu, after I slipped her out of Minnie Driver's beach party where we first met – classy kind of guy, huh?) Trust me on this: take a chick to the Oscars and she puts out even if she's married to the Pope. Victoria behaved like she'd been working in some Parisian brothel for a couple of years and I was hooked. Sadly, I can't pull off that trick every time I fancy a pre-marital rutting, more's the pity.

We walked down the red carpet right behind Mel Gibson and his curious wife. Mel has a huge head when put in context with the rest of his body and, at times, I feared he might fall over as it seemed to completely unbalance him. Victoria was gasping and gulping and trying not to sweat, all at the same time. She was totally vulnerable and I loved it.

If I'm honest, our best date was actually when I got front-row seats to the Lakers v Clippers game. We were sat next to this huge fat dude who took up two seats. I thought it must have been Harvey Weinstein, but it wasn't. Whoever he was, he must have had some clout to get two seats for himself. It all went really weird because the Lakers lost and this fan three rows back went totally beserk and started laying into the fat dude like it was his fault. Jack Nicholson, who was six seats down, ended up pulling this guy off the lard-ass. It was hilarious and way better than the Oscars where everyone always behaves themselves until the after-show parties.

This is probably why I ended up getting loaded in a dingy sports bar off Piccadilly. It's not exactly the same atmosphere when the biggest name in the room is some chick from Hollyoaks. To rub it in, Ben rings me from LA and he's managed to get into the Elton party and he's just calling to brag. I try to pretend that my evening has been amazing but he knows me too well. He's just started seeing this new chick who works at a big bank and I can hear in his voice that the old Oscar magic is working and that he's anticipating a shag-fest when he gets back to the Chateau Marmont.

I'm getting quite homesick right now. The excitement of conquering the UK is starting to wane, as all things do when you've achieved your goals. Victoria and I need to have a long chat as to where we'll go once we're married. I think that she'd actually be quite up for moving back to California if I asked. There's this general feeling that the good times of raping and pillaging your capital city is over for us Yanks.

Recession is looming for you guys, whereas it looks like the US might just be on the crest of a new surge if McCain wins – which I'm sure he will. I feel like a Viking raiding party surveying the burning mess we've left behind as we're about to get back on the longboat and head home to Valhalla. Maybe I should go home?

"NO COOPER DON"T LEAVE US!!!!" I hear you desperately cry... Don't worry kids, I always feel like this around Oscar time if I'm abroad. It'll pass. The Cooperman is here to stay. After all, I want a crack at being Prime Minister and it looks like the plus-side of your steady decline into economic meltdown is that DC will sweep to power, and then who knows what glory awaits me?

I had a one-hour meeting with DC and his posse 10 days ago and they were in victory mode – they know it's in the bag but they're trying to keep a lid on it. It's just like the Oscars, everyone knows who is going to win but we all pretend we don't to make the evening better. California Dreaming... Cooper Out.

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