The one where a girl does a Masonic dance in Tam's hot tub

10am. I’m due in Santa Monica. I race down the freeway. I was hoping to meet a friend for lunch but, surprise surprise, he doesn’t pick up the phone. So… I walked on the beach alone and contemplated HOW LUCKY I AM to be here in LA and enjoying relaxing on the beach. I stepped into the sea. Oooh, look at me, I’m so free, I’m walking in the sea. Woo. I got bored. It took me ten minutes. My head was racing. Shouldn’t I be doing something else, shouldn’t I be writing? Shouldn’t I be DOING SOMETHING? I’m not too good at this downtime thing. Never have been. My head just can’t relax. I think I’m going to learn meditation or something because this is meant to be my break and I’m going ‘where to next, what can I do, why am I on my own on the beach….’ Calm down love.

Tamara rings. Her friend Rick is coming to her BBQ party tonight and needs picking up. So… back to the Four Seasons (Ben and Tamsin left this morning) and meet Rick. We’ve not met before but we have friends in common.

We drive over the hill for the half hour drive. His mother’s a QPR fan so I think he’s okay. Anyway, it’s a bonding trip and we chat away. We get to Tam’s. She’s got the nicest place – big pool, nice BBQ – it’s all amazing. Oh. And there's a hot tub. Really nice. I'm into the hot tub thing. Now that works for me.

One of Tam’s flat mates has got us all VIP passes to some concert at the Staples Centre. I’m tempted but… Rick’s in shorts, Tam’s in the hot tub, Gina can’t be bothered and I’m fine just where we are. Sweet boy though. Moved here from Amarillo, Texas. Got a dog. A small one. Called it Johnny Cash. Started walking it. Met people. And got a job as someone’s assistant (aka Bitch). He hated me calling it ‘bitch’. He kept going he’s my friend… he’s my friend. My point? He’s your boss and you’re his bitch… He’ll learn. Still, I’m impressed that Johnny Cash worked out for him.

By 9pm we’re all in the hot tub. Nice. Then… this girl. Ms J. Don’t know her. Don’t want to know her. She’s hammered. She hit that turning point. I want to thump her. Rick wants to thump her. Jeremy wants to bang her. And god knows what Jason thinks. She told us all about bonding with girls at her boarding school and did her Masonic dance she learned at school. It involved some dancing moves while waving her arms around. It was a bit scary. She'd had a few beers.... let's say... nevertheless... it wasn't what I really needed. Great dance though. I feel I learned a lot.

Following the dance, she then dived into the freezing main swimming pool and just lay in the cold water. Insane. It was cold watching her. Time to go. But it was all good fun. Rick and I make our escape. But now. I’m hungry. So we stopped off at Mel’s Diner for a late night munch.

Tam calls. Ms J’s boyfriend had turned up. Turns out I know exactly who he is and he deserves her. He was in the final series of Dream Team, the amazing Sky One TV show that I was employed on as a script writer. The only TV show I've been employed as a script writer on in fact. Indeed. Yes. I have given that man words. He has spoken my lines.

Oh and Ms J's costume. It was like a bad porn film job. White. With a black bit that you can remove, which she did. Always nice to see a girl’s nipples and bush on a first meeting. And she had the panda eyes where the make up had rubbed all over her face as she got crazier and crazier. I felt sorry for Tam, who had to eventually kick her out at 2am. Urgh.

Anyway, Rick and I are safe. We’re the other side of the hill. Away from the nonsense. I take Rick back to the Four Seasons and head on home.

The Following Day...
10am. I’m at Nico’s. He’s not up yet. WAKE UP. And, later, we go off to the Chateau for lunch with Roof, Patrick, Sacha and Andrew. A nice lunch. I like the Chateau – even though they fucked up my order. By now it was 2pm. People had things to do and, unlike last week, it looked like I wasn’t going to be spending the afternoon with Roof. Instead… I had a press junket to go to. Hopefully.... hopefully... Mr X won't ring so I can just sneak in this job. Fingers crossed.


By 3pm I’m ensconced at the Sofitel hotel interviewing the cast of My Name is Earl. So. Junkets. Noam + four foreign journalists sitting in a hotel room in LA. The ‘talent’ comes in with two publicists, at least – the more publicists the more important they are – and we ask questions. Ten minutes per member of the cast. . You fire questions at them and battle with the other journalists to get your moment in the spotlight. That’s how some people might work. Not me. Oh no.

First of all. Get to know the other journalists. They are your friends. Not your enemies. Find out what people need from the talent. We need to work our time. So. Maybe someone works for a magazine like Vogue. They might want to know their view on fashion or trends. Fuck it. Let ‘em go with it. It’s not like I need the interview. However, with the main talent, it’s harder. We all want a slice. Some people are working for TV mags while others need ‘lifestyle’ pieces so have to ask about babies, boyfriends/girlfriends, homelife and the usual stuff you read in a magazine.

Still, it's fun being in a hotel, watching the world go by from the Penthouse. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon. Thank God Mr X’s in NYC, my blackberry hardly bleeped for at least seven hours.

Bleep. Spoke to soon. But it’s only a quick request to find out something to do in the morning. Bleep. Ended. Bed. Yay.

The one where I get to see a casting session

Up at 4am as usual. The estate agents are still kicking off.

Fuck’s sake.

Is anyone managing my flat right now? I’m finding this all hard to deal with. Snotty emails a’plenty.

11am. Head off to see JFS. He’s just finishing directing his first feature and is leaving for London today. I get there around 12pm. I got lost. It’s exciting. His life is taking off and it’s nice to see a face from home. I’ve seen his plays at Guildford, as well as him performing up at Edinburgh in Dutch Elm. He’s this week’s Hollywood story having just sold a huge pitch to Sony with him writing and directing. He’s a jammy git, but I feel genuinely happy for him. He’s off to London at 3pm so needs to pack so I head off to the office for an hour.

3pm. I’m late. I’m stuck in traffic. Right now xxxx xxxxxxx is in the casting rooms at Tam’s office. I park. And run in. I’m going to my first casting today to see how it’s done.

3.15pm. Thank fuck. They’re fifteen minutes behind. I’m now in the room with Mr X, Tam's boss, Tamara, Max (who’s reading) and Sarah (who’s reading). And in comes xxxx. He does his thing and… you know what? He’s good. I liked him. I want him to get the part. He did a great job. I love this city!

Castings: these are when actors come in to read for films. If the writer/director’s there it means that they’re pretty far up the tree. It means they’re nearly there. xxx got quite emotional but it was fascinating to watch Mr X actually direct and do his thing and see the actor respond. Not coming from that world I liked seeing how these things are done. I think he thought he’d blown it, the actor that is. He really hadn’t. I looked over at Tam. The expression in our eyes was ‘fuck. He was good.’ And mine was also ‘and fuck. He is hot.’ But that’s besides the point. I wanted to chase after him going ‘you were great’ but, again, not my job.

XXX left and the moment the door shut, we’re all talking about him. We’re not ripping him apart. We all agree, he did a great job, he wants it, he likes it, he deserves a shot at this. And, he's a nice guy.

I gave Mr X his Van Morrison tickets and off he went, leaving me and team Randi. Too tired to do anything, I was meant to see a friend, but I headed off out for dinner with Randi, Gina and Tam. Randi then picked up the tab. Which was ever so nice of her. I probably should send her some flowers… on Mr X’s account?!

Still, it was fascinating to see a casting at work. I'd never get this chance back home - just seeing how things are put together and what's what. It's very different from London. Very different indeed. I'm feeling horribly lucky (and pleasantly full).