The one where I lead a Jew-fest...

Yep. Those are shoes hanging from a wire. I spotted them in Santa Monica one day and took a picture. I don't know why. It's just one of those things. Someone obviously playing a prank. Strange though. But.. more importantly... look at the colour of the sky. Oh yeah. Blue. LA. You've got to love it.

Things are picking up with the kid. She said she liked me this week. Oh good. Progress. It’s also a Jewish festival this week so I’ve arranged to ‘celebrate it’. DV and SS are taking me to their friends on the first night. DV’s very sweet – she’s telling everyone that I need a job AND a place to live. And a husband. Don’t forget the husband! Still, it’s a nice meal. I tell everyone about being shot. They all feel sorry for me. This one’s going to run and run. I can tell.

The next night we’re at LH’s house with her family and I’m leading the meal… nerve-wracking. I miss my family a little. I’ve not celebrated the festival without at least ONE family member so this is a first. I’m also not a rabbi, so leading is interesting. But… I’m doing it. The abridged version anyway.

I tell the 'jokes' my father would have told. I tell the stories from the bible. You know what? I can do this? I can Jew it up. Brilliant. I had no idea. But. Well. It stands to reason considering where I'm from.

Work’s ticking along nicely… the park deal works out well for me. I just take her there and bosh… she plays. The only deal is… it’s taking time for the other mothers (and fathers) to accept me. I’m not the kid’s mother. Parents don’t talk to nannies. Not de rigeur. The English accent helps. A bit. Apparently it’s a bit classy. Or something.

So… my kid’s playing with another kid and I try and talk to the parent. It’s not going too well. You can but try. So… it’s back to my blackberry instead as I plot my next move to take over the world. Or at least Hollywood.

Step one? Actually write something. Step two? Self pity be gone. The best thing about LA is that you don’t have to be defined by what you do. The trouble is, I don’t really like that. So… there’s a waiter at dinner. But he’s really an actor. He’s not defined by his table waiting… but I think… he’s not an actor? Is he? Is he? But he says he is. He believes he is. So. I can call myself a writer. I’m just having a fallow period. And that’s okay. I can deal with that.

I’m due back in Court this week… JM’s taking me. This time I’ve been caught on camera. Going left through a red light. Guilty as charged. I’m on a video. So… now what? We’ve got a defence. We’ll see…