The one where I'm at a party in the Valley...

Brit breakfast at Ceconni’s this week. They do it every Tuesday morning. It's a nice idea. My friends EL and CY organise it. Simple in its conception. Get a facebook group: Brits in LA. And organise events. For people who've just moved over it's a great way to meet people. I've been feeling a bit lost at times - obviously - & my social circle is horribly small.

So... we've got a bunch of Brits eating egg and toast for lots of dollars… It was refreshing to hear some familiar accents and chill out with them. I started talking to one girl... I didn't really guess who she was and then she gave me her full name. Shit. I know more about her than she'd care to really know. She's an ex-client of a friend of mine and... well... Oh dear oh dear. Strange how things work out. I kept my mouth shut. Well. You would really but I was bursting. Bursting.

As for me… It's strange being at one of these events. I'm not sure what to tell people what I do. Being a nanny just isn't cool. It's not really part of the Hollywood way... though I think it'll be good. As in. I get paid to play with a child four days a week and I get to write the other three. Apart from the fact that the child 'hates me' (she will love me, oh yes she will), it's such an easy job by comparison to the one I was doing before. However, I'm getting an anxiety complex about just what I'm doing again. I mean. Really. A nanny? What happened? A NANNY? My friends back home are finding this turn of events interesting. A joke even. After all, I've never considered myself a natural with children. It's a learning curve. A fucking steep one.

Elsewhere... I have an anniversary this week. So I’m celebrating. Oh yes. I can’t wait. But first… TN’s turning 30! It’s her fault I’m in LA. I moved out here because she got me the job with Mr X and now she’s having a birthday – a joint one with her housemate. They’re getting a band. The theme is 1930s… and everyone’s making an effort. She lives down in the Valley. I'm still trying to work out why the Valley has such a crappy reputation. Suburban. Tedious. I don't get it. People here have space. People here are happy. People here have big pools. I like the Valley. I didn't when I moved here. I think that's Clueless's fault. That film became my point of reference with LA and now, now that I'm actually living here... It's nothing like that. I say that. I feel clueless half of the time though.

The party

Brilliant. So many people. A proper party and the amount of English accents? A lot. My friend from school (and home) NP is still here and she’s there. It’s just chock a block. So nice to forget about things for a while and just enjoy a party. The booze is flowing. The food is bountiful. And the backdrop? A big pool in TN’s garden in the valley. Ridiculously LA. Especially everyone getting into the hot tub later on.

NM brought a Hello Kitty piñata - it was hoisted to the outdoor BBQ roof. You wouldn't get that in London. Would you?

Okay. This party. This feels glam and fun. Not that London’s not… but this just feels like we’re really in LA right now. A big pool, it's freezing in London and we're all outside watching the BBQ. Good. Watching the pool. Good. Watching people smiling. No one's in a corner being miserable. Everyone seems happy to be here.

Post-party

No gossip. No scandal. Today’s my celebration day but TN’s too hungover to come meet me. I’m in Café Primo with friends: MP, ED, MK, JM, LH, AdG, SS and BM. Dim sum earlier with Nico and Randy before meeting RS and JM and then onto Primo. A really nice evening. A shame that TN couldn’t make it as then that would have been all of my LA friends right now all in one place… which would have been really special. But. Still. I’m so happy to be here. After all the shit I've been going through, this is nice. I'm thinking about my upcoming duo of court dates but... for now. This is okay. I've got some good people around me and JM as my lawyer. It'll be fine.

I’m still a nanny however. I need to do something about that at some stage…

The one where I get stuck at CAA...

No Dublin for Mr X after all. Instead, he’s got a marketing meeting at the studio at 10.30am. He wants me to meet him there again to give him his shoes. Yes. His shoes. He had me take them off his hands to get them polished for the Daddy/Daughter dance in Malibu on Saturday.

My head was all over the place... I had an early walk up Runyon this morning (picture posted). I went over to the studio offices. No Mr X. Nothing. Weird. He's not picking up his phone either. Double weird. No reponse to an email either. Triple weird. I hope he's okay. He always answers something.

Meanwhile, his girlfriend is calling. "Where’s her package?" Fuck. Bloody Fedex. Turns out there was a mechanical fault with the plane. The package couldn’t arrive. I scream at them, fedex, that I’m going to lose my job if it doesn’t arrive by Saturday. They say they’ll do that. But now they’re saying it’s the wrong zipcode. I’d missed off a one. Nightmare. I’m in trouble now. And it's Fedex's fault. Not mine. Not mine at all. I want her to get her present. It's her birthday and Fedex have been horribly unhelpful. Aaaargh.

Anyway… I’m at the studio. Having parked on the street – I get in and… the two boys on reception couldn’t be more friendly. I’ve been accepted. Go me.

So. It’s straight into the conference room where JK – the film’s new line producer is waiting for Mr X to interview ADs. I put my brown bag on the table. The bag contains Mr X's shoes. Yes. The shoes. They are still with me. We chat. He’s lovely. I have to say. Really nice.

In walks the first candidate. Initial impression. Nope. But what do I know?

Anyway, Mr X is messaging me. Finally. He's okay. Phew. But... he's at CAA. JK is looking at me - I can see it in the eyes. "What the fuck is going on?". Mr X is meant to be there. With JK. And, right now, I'm in the room with the ADs instead. Aaaargh. This is fucked up.

And then comes the question. “Where’s Mr X? Will be here soon?” Now. What they don’t know is that there's something going on behind the scenes and Mr X is dealing with it. He's at CAA to have a shakedown. But I can't tell JK that. I can't tell anyone that. Hmmm. This is tricky. Instead, I try and keep to the truth:

"I'm terribly sorry. But... Mr X's locked in another meeting that's run on."

Despite this, the potential AD has not left the room. He's still talking. And the second guy's turned up for his interview. I need AD1 out so I can tell JK what's going on. Thankfully, the studio exec on the film turns up to explain the situation to everyone. It’s now 2.15pm and AD1 still isn’t leaving the room. C'mon. Out out out. We've got things to do. AD2 needs to come in. Finally AD1 leaves and we can get the next one in.

Time for damage limitation however and I’m on my blackberry calling AD agents and the other potential candidates - I'm trying to go ‘abort… abort’. Mr X not being here means coming in for an interview would be a waste of time. Thing is, one of them is nearly at the studio – he just drove in from miles away. Ooops. Still, I managed to reach them all – despite the fact that most of them were already waiting in the lobby. The film’s got a SAG waiver so I guess with the fear surrounding films at the moment, knowing that this one’s going to go ahead means that it’s a job and who doesn’t want a job right now?

I go back into the interview room and this… this is where it got interesting for me. JK’s only been on the film for four days – me? Four months. Time has really flown by. So… suddenly I’m part of the interview process. I’m trying hard to just look official. I manage to do a wicked doodle. And then, I get asked the question - “And what does Mr X think of xxxxxx.” I managed to bluff an answer. After all. I’m a professional. Before you know it, I’m sitting in with the candidates. I send J a message - she'd love this. She'd also know what to do. Still. I'm not doing a bad job. People are looking at me when they give their answers – what the fuck? I have no idea what’s going on. Damage limitation. that's all I'm thinking of right now.

My blackberry’s off again. It’s Mr X. He wants me to meet him with the shoes at CAA. Shitter. I look like crap. At least I’m in all black. No one ever looks truly dreadful in all black… but… it’s been raining. And I’ve been caught in it. I’m not looking my best. It has to be said. I decide to see through the interviews with JK. A chance to just blend in and become a part of the process. He’s also the one hiring and firing at the moment. I ask him if he can find out if I’ve got a job – or not. Am I Pittsburgh bound…? Who the fuck knows right now. He appreciated that I might want to know so he said he’d look into it. Right now, all I need to do is my job and do it to the best of my ability… that’s all I can do.

I’m off to CAA. The famous CAA. I’m approaching CAA. Fuck me it’s BIG.

I park up at the shopping centre and arrive at the agency (still with the shoes in a brown paper bag) and ask for Mr X’s agent's office. I have to wait in the lobby. Everyone there looks important. They’re all waiting… And… eventually… down comes R. I finally get to meet Mr X’s agents's asst. Or… xxxxxxxxxasst@caa.com. She’s never had a name. Just that. We go up to the office. It’s a corner office. Everyone’s very busy. Very groomed. I’m ushered in and there’s Mr X.

He’s still on the phone. I give him the shoes. He nods. He’s still on the phone to the studio. He’s been on with them for about three hours now. I’m told to sit. And wait. And I get to meet The agent. But he’s on the phone. Everyone’s very busy. Mr X gets up. “I’m going to xxxx’s office.” And he leaves me there. Alone. I feel like a twat. A twat with a pair of polished black shoes. It’s now that I see the agency system at work.

“Get me xxxxxx [important big Hollywood name] on one.” – agent

“he’s in casting.” – agent assist

“get him” – agent

There’s a pause.

We’re emailing while the agent is talking to his assistant.

“Shit. It’s non-stop isn’t it,” I write to the assistant.

“Yep. I’m sure it’s the same with you,” replies assistant.

I have no idea what to write now. She's busy. So busy. So I stop writing. He looks like he might throw a hissy fit. I think she's joking.

Meawhile the 'banter' in the office is still going:

“Get me xxxx xxxx’s [a-list actor] number,” Agent.

“xxxxxx [big name] on one,” Assistant.

“I’m too busy. Get me xxxxxxx. I’m never going to get through this fucking list tonight,” Agent
.
“xxxxxx [bigger name] on one,” Assistant.

“Where’s Xxxxxx’s [A-list actor] number? Someone’s got it. Ask around. Put it out there….” Agent

And then he picks up the phone.

“Hey,” he says to me as I’m trying to sink into the chair opposite him as I wait for Mr X. Trying to be part of the furniture. I'm just sitting in his office. Trying to blend.

“Yeah…” I says nonchalantly.

“You want some candy?” Agent.

Huh? The man’s offering me candy. I don’t eat sugar. But I don’t want to turn down his candy. I won’t have the candy. But I like candy. I want the candy. This could be a moment to bond. I’ll take the candy. Yes. Maybe this is our moment.

“It’s the best you’ve ever had,” agent.

I slope up to his desk. What is this? What is going on? Are we friends now?

“Go on. Have both. Take it. Take it,” Agent says.

He is the typical agent. You want him in your court. He’s better than Ari Gold in Entourage because he’s real. He’s a proper proper agent. I love it. I hate it. I love it. I’m at the desk noshing on his candy. I can’t stop now. I put it down. He’s telling me to take it. I tell him to stop pushing his candy on me. He needs some. I tell him to take his candy. This is getting weird now. I’m in an office discussing candy and sugar while Mr X is fighting for his film in another room.

A man comes into the room. He introduces himself. I just tell him I’m Noam. He thinks I’m important and then the agent tells him I’m Mr X’s assistant. I don’t know who he is. I email the assistant to try and find out who he is. Anyway, we start discussing Gerry Butler’s shagability. I don’t know if this is appropriate or not as I don’t know who he is. Anyway. We have some fun. I like him. He’s funny. I don’t know if he’s important or not. All I know is that we’ve delayed his appointment with the agent for three hours as Mr X’s been holed up at CAA.

Mr X’s back. He’s had enough – he wants to leave. His agent wants answers. Mr X’s spent though so we leave. As we go some wannabe shark of an agent comes over. He’s all over Mr X. Tedious. I’m still trotting behind. Eventually we leave. I’m out of CAA. Mr X has managed to get someone to look after his car right outside the door. It's pouring. Mr X drives me to my car. He wishes me a nice weekend – he’s off to spend time with his daughter and I’m off to get ready for the Grammy party I’m going to tonight at the Paramount lot.

9pm. I’m dressed. I’m ready. I’m knackered and I’m going to go to a party on my own. Then.. Tamara rings. A friend’s in town and they’re meeting up with A.N. Other UK actor at Firefly for a night out. Oh well. I wish I could go but…

I’m driving in the rain. It’s kinda scary and then I get the call from Mr X. It’s 9.30pm. He’s had an accident on the PCH. A boulder hit his car and it spun. He's okay, thankfully, but the car is not. He wants me to drive to Zuma tomorrow for 10am to take him to his hire car. Oh poo. That means an early night tonight rather than enjoy the Grammy party. I suck at this job. I'm thinking about me. I don't want to drive 50 miles to his place to drive him five miles up the road. Oh well. I have to do this. And hire his car. And... do it with a smile.

I arrive at the Paramount lot. I’m on my own at a party. It’s kind of weird. I’m dressed up. For me. A dress. Make up. Fresh hair. And I’m emailing xxxxx from the studio that invited me. She’s by the cheese. I’m by the cheese. Wrong cheese. There are two cheese tables. I’m at the better one. She’s English and friendly. So we hang out. Before you know it I bump into someone I know. JVDF. A friend of E’s. He’s with someone who worked at Dazed in London. So she knows some of my former Time Out and City friends. Small world… small world. And I don’t look like a loser. See? I know people.

By midnight, however… I’m bored. I don’t know enough people to make this worthwhile really. I’m tired and bored. I got kudos points for being spotted saying hello to Adam (aka DJ AM). I didn’t realise he was DJ AM. I don’t know who that is but I know that he’s Adam. Nice guy. He knows Nico. Of course. Who doesn't?

I leave. It’s 12.15am. And who’s arriving? Nico. He’s greeting everyone. Like a king among minions. I'm done. I’m off. That’s it. And I’ve got to drive to Malibu in the morning.

2am. I’m online. I’m looking at local car hire places in Malibu. I’m compiling a list. A long list. Which I’m emailing to Mr X: “Please look at his before I arrive tomorrow so I can book it while driving over to yours in the morning.”

I've got to get up in six hours. Ew. This is not going to be pretty.

The one where I have to get the vitamins...

9am. Moorpark. I can’t really concentrate. I’m still tired and the shit’s hitting the fan with Mr X. There's an issue. Something's not been signed off. It's become a drama and it's affecting Mr X, me, well everyone really. No one's happy. Thankfully it's not my fault but it means all the small stuff can't fall apart. If it does - it's a disaster... DISASTER.

Anyway. I have to drive 20 miles to pick up some posters from the Production office. J’s being really intense. "So.. you’ve got til XXXX. Okay? And then the job's over. Got that. Over." Yes. I've got that. Even though Mr X hasn't told me that he's going to Pittsburgh - no one has apart from J - I know that I'm about to be fired. That's the message. "Mr X moves to Pittsburgh in a few months. Then you’ll lose your job." That's kind of scary. I'm about to lose my job but no one's told me. I explain I find her enthusiasm for the project really intimidating (but without saying intimidating) because I don’t even know if I’m being involved after the next month or so or if I care. I don’t want to care, or get into it, because I may be out so what's the point? But… right now. I don’t know what I want. Do I really want to move to Pittsburgh for three months? Four months? My heart is here. It really is. Anyway. I leave. I can't take it any more. I need a visit to the Java Detour.

Shit. I had to race to Malibu. Race. And… on the way. The phone was going. Mr X. I had to go to the studio to get a Rocky DVD, so I called ahead to get Mr X’s lunch from Spruzzo in Zuma, then I phoned the video store at Heathercliff to get them to put aside Rambo (for work not pleasure reasons I hasten to add). It's all go.

Strange note at the Pavillion at Heathercliff: "Paparazzi fuck off". Basically. But not quite that blunt. However. I saw no one famous. No one at all. Then… it’s off to Spruzzo to get the lunch. It’s ready. Pricey for a tuna salad and a sandwich but there we go. It’s still not stopping as now… it’s off to the dry cleaners. Now this. This is proper assistant work. The running. The journey up the path to the house was a disaster. Struggling under ten items of clothing, a laptop, the necklaces I’d picked up the day before, the lunch and a myriad of other random things for Mr X I tottered up the path.

Mr X was home, he was sitting with his brilliant DP as they went through the script. Kind of fascinating but I couldn't really concentrate as I was preparing the lunch… well. I put it on a plate and sat there, quietly, checking my emails while they talked about the project. It was like they were storyboarding each scene. I didn’t know that happened. Very intense stuff. I checked my emails, printed off some job applications and poof – was out the door. Or so I thought. No. There was still more to do.

I had to get Mr X’s vitamins. I took a picture of the bottles I needed and wrote down the names and brands of the five bottles I had to deal with. It was non-stop. At the vitamin barn the bill came to $180 or so. Mr X’s card (or my version of it) was declined. And declined. And declined. This happened before. I was buying his wine and it got declined and I’ve got nothing in the bank so can’t pay for this at all. I phone the credit card company - it was a mistake. I'm sorted out. I get back to the house. Apparently I didn't get all the vitamins. Mr X wasn't not happy. But I did. I did. I took a picture. He'd forgotten to get out one of the bottles. However, despite the photographic evidence, which I didn't show, remember the boss is always right and I was at fault. I bit the bullet, said nothing, and went back to the store.

Course they didn't have this particular brand at the store. So... it was another couple of miles to the Pacific Greens Store on the PCH to get this bottle of gloop. Great. Thankfully my mileage is getting reimbursed by the studio and, hell, there are worse places to be driving around. The PCH is a pleasure. Not, however, when you hit traffic, but, at least there's an ocean to gaze at.

Everything goes right by the time it’s the evening. I joined a bunch of English girls to play Netball. Netball. It’s been nearly 20 years since I managed to pivot and play. It was exhausting but I loved it. Loved it. The basketball players on the other court were confused. And, for a while, we had an audience but it was nice to do something active that I enjoyed. I even managed to play goal shooter for the second half (first half wing attack) and scored some goals. Obviously I want to play again. Now. Right this minute. But I’m going to have to wait two weeks. Still. At least I’ve tried to do something active.

Throughout the game though I could hear my crackberry. It’s Mr X. He might have to go to London tomorrow or Dublin. But Europe to sort out the issue that was going wrong… It’s all falling apart. The film’s all falling apart – everything. He had to cancel the dinner I’d set up with a composer. I don’t know what Mr X’s doing but I know he’s online and I know he’s stressing out. I need to sleep. We've got a lot to sort out in the morning. The buzzing has stopped. I think even Mr X needs a break.

Following day
I’m due at studio at 10.30 after Mr X’s marketing meeting. The email’s haven’t stopped. He’s due to fly out this afternoon. Dublin here he comes. Part of me just wants him to let it go. After all, as I've been told, I've got a month left. A month. And then I'm being let go.

I’m sitting outside the exec producer’s office chatting to her assistant – but he won’t chat. He’s wearing a headset. He’s busy. He’s getting ahead. He’s not standing for it. He’s going to make it in Hollywood…. So… I retreat to another desk and do some writing while I wait. It’s been two hours now. I’m going nowhere. Mr X comes out. He’s had enough. I’m to go walking with him. We go to his car where he has a cigarette. He’s not a happy bunny. He hands me his girlfriend’s birthday present.

Either way – as I suspected – he’s not had time to get her a card so I’m dispatched to CVS to buy some greeting cards. Thing is, part of me KNEW he wouldn't have time to get a card, this is stuff a great assistant (which I'm not yet, let's be honest here) would have anticipated. But I did anticipate this and I didn't do anything. Now that's not good. It's the little things that really make this job work and I did fuck up a bit there. Oh well. If I ever get a gig like this again, I'm on this... I really will be.

However, more mini dramas for me. I get to the studio car park and... horror of horrors, I've lost my parking ticket. It’s $30… and they don’t validate at the studio anymore. Or do they? I must cut quite a pathetic figure as the exec’s producer slips me some validation passes and even the two queens on the front desk are sympathetic.

I race to CVS. The choices of cards are AWFUL. What does one buy? The dilemma was this: I’m buying a card that Mr X has allegedly bought for his girlfriend. It’s a tough call. I pick the only three blank cards rather than the one with the dog on it which says something about smelling old. Which was funny. But highly inappropriate. I don’t think this is a time for humour. I race back in the rain and am back in the office at the studio with gifts for the two pretty boys at the front desk. Chocolate. Hershey’s kisses. Always a good idea to bring presents for gate keepers at any corporation. I think they were touched.

Anyway, I’m in the corner when the blackberry buzzes. Mr X’s hungry. He wants me to go and get food but I throw this one back at the other assistant. Surely his boss needs to eat too. They send an intern out. Yay! Result! Ideally I need a car parking pass. As this to-ing and fro-ing is getting expensive for the studio and they like to keep things cheap.

Meanwhile, I’m having a poke around the office. DVD box sets. Mmmmmm. I spot Mad Men. I’ve always wanted to watch that. I contemplate ‘borrowing it’ but that would be wrong. Instead I email the other assistant of the other exec producer and ask her if I can have a box set. Two minutes later it’s in my lap. Meanwhile… I’m still sitting outside the office. I’m having fun. I’m online. I’m on facebook. I’m busy. Doing my thing. I get out of the studio at 2pm. They’re all eating away and I thought I wouldn’t be there for lunch so… I realise I’m free to go.

I have Mr X duties. Collect the girlfriend’s necklace and the card and then off to the fedex office. I had posters to send to his father – of Mr X's old film – he promised to send 20 of them to his dad for a charity. It was a nightmare. I haven’t had the balls to say there were only 19. That was all they had. That was it. The poor assistant at CAA worked her arse off to get them as it was. I sent the girlfriend’s necklace next day delivery, while the posters should arrive there by Monday. Done. Dusted. Over. Or so I thought… that came back to bite me in the arse.

Anyway… the rain was bad on the way back to West Hollywood. So… it took me two hours to get to Trader Joe’s and buy some food. By the time I got back, it was 6pm. I was tired. I fell asleep on the sofa. With the dogs. When I woke up, Nico had gone, it was cold and I crawled into bed totally missing the party I’d been invited to at Bar Marmont. I wish I’d gone now. R was there. Nico was there. And a host of other people I know in LA. Damn. Oh well. I was far far too tired and the weather, to be honest, frightened me a bit. The rains coming down were thick and fast. I’d had enough. Bed called.

The one where I drive to Zuma and back and Zuma again

I’m due at Mr X’s at 9.30am. So. At 8.30am I’m up. I’ve got my packed suitcases and head off to Mr X’s. Tired. Oh. So. Tired. I get to Zuma. His daughter's there. She's very sweet. Very friendly. Very loving. Not a brat, which is refreshing and terrifically bright. I like her. She's watching TV and there's no sign of Mr X. The buff mate's there but... where's Mr X? It's the Hollywood culture - hurry up and wait. So I wait. he appears at nearly 11am.

He’s as nice as pie. He doesn’t even mention the BMW. The BMW I'd lost sleep over that night as I was in total fear that I'd done something wrong again. Anway, I take him through the car. Show him how to use it. We go through all the other stuff. Busy busy busy. I’m out of there by 1.30pm. Finally. We’ve talked about charity work, we’ve talked about his upcoming schedule, play tickets… all that jazz. I think it's all sorted out. Good. Few. It is the weekend after all...

And... I've got my suitcases in my car. I go off to look at an apartment in Hollywood. It smelled of wee. And overlooked a police station. Aargh. But then... a text from Roof. His flat's going to be empty in December so I can flat sit! Yay! Result! Quite what I'm going to do in a three-bedroom three bathroom apartment I don't know but I'm so excited!

The following morning, we're all meeting at Sacha's house and arrange to have lunch at the Chateau with Roof, Nico, Nina and friends. I'm so excited I end up locking my keys in my car - WITH THE ENGINE RUNNING. What an idiot. My cell doesn't work so I can't let anyone know that I'm going to be late. I'm freaking out. Thank god for Nico and triple AAA.

Lunch was nice and then I got to see my school friend Dan. And his newborn son Henry. And his fiancee Krystyna. Yay! Friends from home. Back to Nico's and while reversing out of his drive on Mulholland I manage to scrape the entire side of the car by reversing into a pole. Jesus.

Then... it's my driving test following a two-hour driving lesson with some freak who decided to tell me about all the famous people he'd taught... I say famous. They were usually the second assistant to x. Or the third assistant to y. He's probably going to tell people he had that Mr X's assistant in his car last week. Anyway. No matter. I passed first time. Yay! I have been driving about 18 years so really... but it's different here. It's the other side of the road for starters. Wrong.

And then... Emails from Mr X from 7pm onwards. He’s not happy. There's some stuff going down. It's not that he's not happy with me, I think, just that other people have been stupid and... well... now I know I’ve got a horrid day tomorrow.

5.45am. Wake up. Try to call Mr X. He's got a conference call at 6am. No signal. Send email. Call from landline. Someone from CAA fucked up. No signal. Arrgh. He has a conference call at 6am. Where is the call? Where is the access code? What's going on? Nooooooooo.

Mr X's sending emails and going crazy. This is not good. Not good at all. Eventually he gets through. Then I go back to sleep. Up again at 8.15am. Head for Moorpark. 10am off to Zuma. I have to pick up a video that Mr X wants to get to the casting office by lunch time. He tells me this at 9.45am. Great. He's screaming at me. I'm driving in the rain. It's really dark. And a bit scary. LA in the rain is hard work. People are lunatics because they're just not used to it. Rain that is. I'm doing my best but it's really difficult and Mr X's shouting down the phone about where I’m meant to be and all the rest of it. But? What's this? I'm stuck in full-on traffic. Full on. PCH. What do you expect?

On the plus side, Mr B phones about a celebration dinner surprise for his wife Ms J. And … shooting on Friday. Yay! I'm going to a shooting range! I've always wanted to indulge my inner Charlie's Angel.

I get another call... Tamara and Gina waiting for the tape. Racing back as best I can. Woosh. I race into the casting office. It's 12.30pm. Bam. I'm good. But then... Of course. I'd forgotten. Mr X's still in NYC and Tamara and I are due to spend the weekend at his house in Zuma so... guess what? I end up driving all the way back to Zuma again. It takes FOREVER! Still, it's nice that he trusts me and is letting us stay there for the weekend. I can't wait to have a break. I'm exhausted all the time and Tam's not had a break either. We get to pretend that we really live the life and chill at a house in Malibu. Bliss. We can't wait. I'm really grateful to Mr X...

I go to Ralph’s at the Malibu colony. Then.. the house. Tam passes out early. She was making out all night before. At 11pm I’m in bed too. Shattered. Shattered. That was over 150 miles in one day just going back and forth doing nowt. That's the LA way. Hurry up. And wait. Hurry up. And wait...

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 recognised...

Breakfast with Judy, Willow and Willow’s friend Olivia. The dog (Arrow) and the Cat (Hodge) are passed out in Willow's bedroom - which is good. I don't have to walk Arrow. Good. Then, at 9.50am, Rufus turns up. We’re off to Sasha’s house. But where is Sasha’s house? Back to Rufus’s to get the address. Doh.

We drive up there and, hurrah, Nico’s there. Which was nice, I've not seen him much since arriving in LA, so all go out for a coffee on Laurel afterwards with another girl Emma. I knew Emma’s flatmate Katie. Katie killed herself the week before I came out by throwing herself off an 80ft roof. Horrific. Utterly horrific. I remember her from my last time out in LA... Despite all this, Emma seems incredibly together. I don’t know if I could be.

After the coffee, Emma’s off to look at a home, Nico leaves and Mr R and I finish up. Thing is. I’m hungry. Again. So we head to the Chateau for lunch. Now here’s where I had my Hollywood moment. Finally. I’ve dreamed of this day! As we were walking through the garden, there was a large table of 12 people and two of them went ‘Noam’! It was Justin and Kirsten – the woman I need to meet to sort out the book deal. Meanwhile, Mr R, of course, bumped into some friends. And, finally, we settled into lunch. Which was delicious. A couple came over to say hello to Mr R. It was the man who played Derek in Sunset Beach. How excited was I? Very. And his wife invited me over to dinner when they get back from Australia. I want to tell him that I’ve watched every episode of Sunset Beach. Every episode. But I manage not to and get excited about Sunset Beach. I was. However. I might have been the show's only fan. Anything Aaron Spelling created was fine by me... Sunset Beach. Sigh.

They’re all talking about Claire’s party. Do I know Claire? I don’t know. Do I? "She’s English". "Oh and she had a party last night as she’s gone away". I should know Claire. "Claire’s lovely." That's the talk for about five minutes. Eventually I give in. Who the fuck is Claire? Oh. It’s Claire Forlani and her husband Dougray Scott. Oh! Right. yes. Of course I know Claire. Not. I mean I've seen her on screen but I don't KNOW her. Jesus. But her husband. I’ve actually met him. He lives in Hammersmith and I’ve chatted to him about QPR. That’s about all I can add to the conversation. "Oh you must meet Claire." Well. Stranger things have happened. Maybe Claire and I will be bezzie mates. But. Today. I don’t think so. Perhaps when I write a movie and Claire wants to be in it. Sigh. Hollywood.

Nothing in Mr X’s schedule today. But I still go to the office. As ever. Work. Blah. Work. Blah. Make appointments. Blah. Double check appointments. Triple check appointments. Done.

I pop home and then it’s off to the Four Seasons to meet Tamsin and Ben. They’re over here on holiday, well, Ben’s working. We head to the restaurant for a meal. It’s horribly stagnant. We feel a bit, well, out of place and decide we’d be happier in the hotel room with room service but they’ve brought us bread and we’ve already demolished it and ruined the table cloth (Ben). We eat. Chat. And then head up to the room. Ben’s talking about Mickey Rourke's film The Wrestler.

We get into the lift. Wouldn't you know it? Mickey Rourke, a horrible little dog and a woman all get into the lift with us. We stop talking and exchange glances – it’s Mickey fucking Rourke! Mickey Rourke! I turn to Tamsin. ‘Oooh, you farted’. Tam’s mortified. But Mickey’s too wrapped up into his little dog and horrible woman and pays us no attention at all. Which is odd, as Tamsin's stunning.

After a gossip upstairs in the room, Ben goes to bed and then I head home. Tired. Again. At least there were no Mr X dramas today. A Mr X-free day! Result! I love Hollywood