Victoria Brown: My husband has been kidnapped and sent to prison in Mexico

She's Out There: 'I can see Cooper now, hunched over his laptop, so protective over what he was doing'

Recent readers of my husband Cooper's column will undoubtedly know that he was having some problems with the immigration authorities here in the United Kingdom. They took him away for questioning 10 days ago and he was held for three days against his will and then released – but his passport was retained. Three days ago they came for him again – they knocked on our door at 5am, forced an entry and took Cooper away. They told me that he was being extradited back to the United States that morning. That is the last I have heard of him, apart from a mysterious telephone call from someone who said that he was a "fan" of Cooper's column – he warned me that he was being taken to Guantanamo Bay.

I do not know where to turn or who to go to? My parents are fairly influential in political circles and have rung everyone they know, to no great avail. I even tried to get my friend from the television Trinny Woodall to try and do something – she did a "Celebrity Apprentice" and knows important people like Alastair Campbell and Piers Morgan. She was hysterical when I rang her as she has been banned from television or something and she was in a complete state. What is happening to this country when people like my husband can simply be kidnapped and sent to prison in Mexico, and good people like Trinny are treated as though they are some kind of disposable item?

I must admit that I am no newspaper reader, so have not really followed my husband's columns over the couple of years that he has been writing here. My parents wouldn't even let us read The Times when we were young, as they thought it was starting to have "proletarian leanings". That is not to denigrate this marvellous newspaper – I'm sure it's very good and it always seems to have lovely big colour photographs. I know that Cooper is very successful here and is very much loved by many of you. It feels strange writing this column instead of him – I can see him now, hunched over his laptop in the study, always drinking Coca-Cola and so protective over what he was doing. He would never let me read what he wrote – he said it was very bad luck and would jinx him. He's funny like that – so full-on and devil-may-care, and yet in some ways very traditional. I remember one of the very first times we went away together – we went to my parents' villa in Tuscany. Cooper had never been to Europe before and was very excited. He got a little tipsy on the Chianti at supper and things got a bit out-of-hand – he ended up punching one of Daddy's important friends from the House of Lords. It was all very embarrassing and we didn't speak for a while. Secretly, though, I was rather pleased, as this man – "Belchy", as he's known in the family – used to come and "visit" me in my bedroom when I was very young and... it doesn't matter... but I was not surprised Cooper punched him. He must have sensed something – he was very sensitive like that.

I've just taken our son, Humboldt-Fog, for a walk around Westbourne Grove. Shopping always clears one's head and it calms me down a bit. On the way back I spot Cooper's car – he's so proud of it, he always said that having a Mini made him feel very British (something he would always deny he enjoyed). Anyway, it's parked in an unusual place, about five streets away from the flat, and it looked like someone had parked it while very drunk – the back end is halfway out into the street. I rather think Ben, Cooper's friend, has probably "borrowed" it again. Ever since he lost his job in the City last year he has been rather down and drinking way too much. He's gained about four stone and looks terrible. Anyway, someone has objected to the dodgy parking, because they have slapped stickers all over it. Don't you hate it when busybodies do that sort of thing? The stickers are totally senseless as well – one reads: "The owner of this car is an arrogant foreign moron who needs to be kicked senseless". What kind of idiot would write that sort of thing? My father says they need to bring back national service – he says this would give the "oiks" something to do apart from "shit and piss all over this great country". Daddy is a little reactionary, but he's not that far off in my view...

Humboldt-Fog starts to cry, that's all he ever does since Cooper was taken away. It's becoming quite tiring, I've developed this uneven heartbeat and it keeps drumming really fast. My yoga teacher says it's stress-related but my homeopathist says it's the body telling us that we need more cinchona bark. I get home and ring Harriet, my sister, and she comes over and takes Humboldt-Fog off to the cinema – they go to see The Dark Knight. I wonder whether it might not be a bit too complicated for a one-and-a-half-year-old child but she says it will be fine. I am in despair – I sit and watch television and try to imagine where my Cooper might be right now? Then the phone goes – it's Hugh Grant, who knows Cooper really well. At last, a real friend... he has heard about Cooper being taken to Mexico and hopes I'm coping all right? He insists on coming round and taking me out to supper. Hugh is such a gentleman and so attractive... some girl will just have to snap him up one of these days. Victoria Out. That was Cooper's catchphrase, yes?