The one where I don't have a phone signal...

The morning - spent that reading the book proof of 'Anvil: The Story of Anvil' up at SG's. SG is correcting the book proof and I'm reading. I actually laughed out loud (or snickered) a few times. Two hours later. I’m done. I’ve read it. It's as good as the film.

I met up with JB later. She took me to one of the worst dive bars I’ve been to since I arrived in LA. Brilliant. I have to go back! The exterior looked like a Swiss Chalet. The interior stunk of beers and men. It was Super Bowl day and the place stuck of super bowel. Awful. Swaying men. Fucked off their nuts. It was called Ye Olde xxxxxxx. I wish I could remember. Anyway, an hour later JB and I were off to Dom’s Pizza in Los Feliz to meet her friends. The backfat story came back on to the table and one of the guys knew someone at the LA Weekly. Now they want to do a story. Back fat’s taking off.

During dinner… Mr X was emailing. A lot. The meeting at the major studio at 1pm tomorrow - that we’d spent all weekend sorting out – he can’t make it. He said he could never make it. Oh poo. The studio isn't happy. It’s the evening and we’re talking about tomorrow. The emails from Mr X are coming thick and fast. THICK AND FAST. I’m panicking. But I’m also at dinner and this looks so rude. My solution? I email back. “Can I call you in an hour… I’m on a date.” His response? “On a date? Turn the blackberry off and let’s talk in the morning.” See. He’s reasonable. Anyway… an hour later I get the email… “I can make 1pm.” All sorted. And I got to have a nice dinner with some new people.

The next day - 7.30am - I'm up. And... by 10am... I'm at L's place trying to sell ad space for his brochure. I’ve never sold anything before BUT I need to do some extra work. I just don’t know what’s going on and I like working. I need to do as many things as I can in my life. I don’t want to go home. That’s my motivating factor here. I’m not ready. I’ve just heard from Grazia Australia – they want to buy Backfat saved my life. Meanwhile... I'm at L's making phonecalls and sending emails. I’m not a natural saleswoman. I thought I might be but I feel self conscious. I’ve never tried selling things. Urgh. By 2pm I’ve had it. I can’t sell ice to Eskimos and I can’t sell ad space in a magazine. But I tried. And I’ll keep trying.

I’ve arranged to meet M to walk Norton up and down Runyon. I’m going to lose my fucking Muffin Top if it’s the last thing I do. So much for ‘no diet’ – it’s LA. I can’t settle with this damn muffin top even though it saved my life, well done them but now their job has been done. Time to move on. M and I walk. It’s good. There are a lot of dogs. Crazy people. And dogs. I’m just in an area with a signal and my phone goes crazy.

OH! Typical. The moment I'm out of range... It seems that Mr X's GPS doesn’t work and he’s lost in LA. I’m on Runyon with MK. He’s going slightly crazy. The numbers don’t work. Nothing works. And I can’t do anything. My Blackberry is going in and out… Instead I call J at the production company to guide him to his meeting. I can’t believe I’m getting so stressed out about this. I'm actually freaking out. The company have given us the wrong contact numbers. And why doesn't Mr X's GPS work? I'm going to have to fix that with BMW as soon as possible. Thank god for Ms J. She guides Mr X around LA thanks to google maps and a trusty computer.

As ms J's guiding Mr X to his meeting, the pair of us continue our walk. Home and it’s time to shower. Time’s running out. I’m due at JM’s house at half six. The two of us head to the Beverley Hills Hotel. I’ve not been there since I moved here. I’d forgotten how much I love luxury. “Hello Miss Friedlander…” “Can we help you Miss Friedlander?” I feel like a princess. The gardens of the hotel are lush and filled with bungalows, the exterior floor isn’t grass, gravel or concrete but carpet. Carpet? But then it so rarely rains here. Anyway, after an overpriced peppermint tea (however they did bring tacos with guacamole, sour cream and salsa – dinner!). All’s well.

Then. Bing. Another email from Mr X. The film might be falling apart so we’re trying to fix up meeting after meeting. It's getting later but we've got to sort this out tonight. So it's email after email after email. London's waking up. No sleep tonight.

THE NEXT MORNING

By 8am I’m at Runyon Canyon with Norton. Off for a walk. I’m due to meet E, D and C. They’re starting at the bottom, I’m at the top. 8.30am. No sign of them. Nothing. And I’ve got no signal. Turns out there was no parking and D and C did the walk in record time. I, meanwhile, was huffing and puffing up the hill. The muffin top must go is now my mantra. I’m exhausted. Sweaty. And due in Zuma by 9.30am to pick up a check. That’s it. Just a check. The reason? Mr X’s girlfriend is being given a gift. It's stunning.

So… I’m racing to Zuma to pick up a cheque to pay the woman making the gift because Mr X won't do a bank transfer... is this something not done in America? Thankfully it’s a stunning drive. I do Las Virgines and at least I get to look at the incredible scenery. There’s NOTHING to beat this. NOTHING. So I’m grateful for that. By 11.45am, I've been to the house, driving to the woman's house in Westwood, picked up the gift and now I'm on my way to West Hollywood to drop someting off at the casting office.

I park up and there’s MG, who works at the casting office. She’s with two men. I don’t know who they are. Though... one of them looks kind of familiar. As I get into the office, R’s in the meeting with one of the men. Fuck me if it isn’t Kenneth Brannagh. I love Sir Ken. Love him. How many times can I walk up and down outside the office to look at Sir Ken. I can’t. But I love him. Time to go before I totally humiliate myself. Off to the Java detour where I finally do some writing and then, being a glorious day, MK comes to meet me and we sit outside. God I love the sun here. It makes being here so much better. I’m due to meet SG this afternoon before he goes so I’m head back up to Nico’s to walk the other dog.

I’ve decided I hate the two words ‘Heads Up’. I use them. Everyone uses them… “Just to give you the heads up” so… ‘heads up… it’s going to be rough’ etc., I can’t stand it. But. I’ve taken to using them. Anyway, J calls. She’s got a heads up for me. So… it seems, according to J, that they’re moving to Pittsburgh in two weeks. So I’ll be losing my job in two weeks. What the fuck? And no one’s told me? I hate all this mixing up of stuff. All I can do is my job but it would be nice to know. I don’t know if I want to go to Pittsburgh or not. I really don’t. I want to stay here.

Anyway. That’s my head’s up. J, meanwhile, is getting so involved in everything. Fingers in pies. Not just in them but jammed in. Hard. She’s ramming her fingers in there with abandon. She wants a producer role on this film, and Mr X's brother’s fighting for her… I want to work on this film too but I'm exhausted. Part of me feels like sod the lot of you - especially now that I've heard that I might be off the project anyway... But maybe I will be. Just no one’s telling me and I’m being a pussy and can’t confront.

At 4.45pm I’m up at SG’s house. His assistant’s there and they’re putting the final touches on the extras for the Anvil DVD. They’re brilliant. I mean just brilliant. I love this film and truly believe it’s going to explode. I’m bursting with pride before heading home when the masseuse arrives and totter back down the hill.

By 8.30pm I'm out with the English crew on Robertson. I’m sitting round trying to concentrate when my blackberry’s buzzing. It’s 8.30pm. “Noam. Call me.” I ignore it. My phone rings (silently). I ignore it. It’s Mr X. “Noam. Call me at the house.” My phone buzzes. “Noam. Call.” I leave the meeting. I’d trying to hard to meditate. I eventually leave. I can’t lose patience here. He’s my boss. Remember - you do anything and everything he asks. Personal time is NOT an option.

The problem? Just some clarification. There are emails coming in from the studio and J. They're thick and fast. Marketing meetings, meetings about the films, meetings with people and it's just on going and on going. It's exhausting. Everyone wants a slice of Mr X. Everyone. I'm trying to protect him, he's still writing a draft of the film and there's a lot going on. A lot. I'm trying hard to keep it together and make sure everyone gets what they need and that he gets what he needs. And what he needs is no one to disturb him. I'm just getting a handle on this job. Basically... your life is over. End of.

I’m all over the shop. I’m tired. I join P, S and friends for dinner. I’m still reeling. I can’t concentrate. I get home. I’m tired tired tired. Time for bed.