The one where I fail my first ever test

Busy day. I have to take my written driving test. Tedious. But first, the usual 9am trip to Moorpark. Then off to Larchmont.

Naturally… the phone starts beeping. Emails are flooding in. Shit. I have to remember that I must never make plans. Ever. If you're working as someone's assistant. That's it. Your plans, life, everything is on hold. It has to be. You're being paid (however poor the sum) to tend to someone else's needs. That's that. I keep forgetting that as it seems to be a 24/7 existence I'm finding really exhausting...

So... It’s off to Starbucks. Get on line and try my best to deal with the demands. There’s a meeting at the studio, a meeting at Paramount, again… but I’ve got to take my written test for my driving test. So… it’s off ten miles to Culver City to take the test.

So. Yes. The Californian written test. I fail. I got eight wrong. You’re only allowed six wrong. Maximum. They said I could come back later OR the next day. I’m livid. I’ve never failed a test in my life. In my entire life. Not as far as I can remember. I’ve done ‘badly’… ‘badly’ in a ‘I went to St Paul’s’ way (which actually means scraping by rather than getting an A or something) but I’ve never not got a grade. Nope. Thinking. Not even at university. I read through the book again and decide to go back in for another bash twenty minutes later. They gave me the same test. What the fuck? The same test. Which meant that I got 100% second time round well. Der. How stupid am I? So. I passed. Now I have to take the test itself.

Then, whoosh… it’s off to the airport to pick up Judy and Willow and drive them to the airport. They’re off to London for the weekend. Then… hang on. I suddenly remembered that the fitty from the casting is working out at the gym doing Krav Maga with Mr X. Er. I have a delivery that just has to be made… so… I race off to the gym to see Xxxx train (audition). Mmmmmm. Fit. I totally do not have to be at that gym but I need a perk. Now and again. And to see a fit working actor work out isn’t a bad perk.

I leave Mr X and then get on with my day. I’m late for something. Or someone. Always the way. But my life is Mr X's now. He owns me.

However, I managed to pick up Tamsin from the Four Seasons to take her out somewhere. We didn’t get far. Kitson’s was about it. On Robertson. Walking distance. How rubbish were we? We should have done something but, instead, we just hung out and Tamsin played with shoes and watches.

Dropped her back at the hotel and … time to go home at get changed. A friend had been invited to a ‘fashion party’ up Coldwater Canyon, 1210 Coldwater Canyon. Someone’s house. Sounded nice. Sounded posh.

I went home. Put on a dress. Put on make up. Wore heels. You know. Made an effort. There’s a photographer there. She didn’t take my picture. I was excited to see Melissa George leaving as I arrived. I wanted to tell her that I was a bit Shane and Angel fan in Home and Away. That I used to try and copy her Angel hair with her plaits and all. Sigh. I did love her. Anyway, she was leaving. I got to turn up with Jaime Murray who swanned in. I mean really swanned in.

Victoria Hervey was there. This is the fifth time I’ve seen the madam. Why the long face? And she still doesn’t ever say hello.

I met a strange man. Nice. Architect. Normal. Wife at home having a horrific pregnancy. He shared a lot. He also started bobbing his head along to the music and dancing while talking and asked me why other people don’t do that at parties… Why? Because it’s fucking annoying that’s why. Seriously. Try talking to someone when they’re bobbing their head. There wasn’t a dance floor. It wasn’t like that at all. It was just background music and he’s bobbing.

The food table was untouched, obviously. Being a fashion party and all. I hit the dips. And then felt alone. Not even the men were eating. Oh. There was some English guy called Alex. A director I think. He joined me at the noshing table and we picked our way around. We were alone. Maybe Americans don't eat at parties. Maybe models never eat. Maybe this is why I am not tiny.

Anyway, the house. Mid century American modern. Each item of furniture probably cost my year’s salary. People were just being so, well, dull. I thought I’d hate myself after attending but, you know, I felt so validated as a person. Everyone in that room was having a bad time. I really think they were. So full of SHITE.

This guy started talking to me… trying to tell me about who had photographed the house. He was being horribly pretentious. I was, in retrospect, perhaps a bit rude but it amused another couple who were at the party - Ms J and Mr B.

We hit it off. Mr B was from Brixton and in some band. I’m so shit with music. But, that’s irrelevant. The main point is that she was fun, got my humour and while my friend started talking to Mr B, we got into conversation and exchanged numbers.

They left soon after, but Ms J and I made plans to meet up over the weekend while I prowled around the party for a bit.

Before long, I saw someone I knew. Laura, who used to work at a major film company in the UK. She was there with some model, I think, called Ms M. Ms M was blank behind the eyes and no one really wanted to talk to me… they were all waiting for Laura’s business partner, Mr Houston. It was like the world was revolving around him. My friend and I decided to leave… but then came the announcement. The neighbour across the road was celebrating his daughter’s 17th birthday and had an in and out truck parked outside and was offering burgers.

I’ve never seen fashion people move to quickly and look so, well, unfashionable as the ketchup from the burgers dribbled down their cheeks. My friend and I started talking to Mr In and Out. He’s a theme park designer. He has a couple of theme parks he designed opening up in China. It’s a strange old world.