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 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 I end up paying for some girl...

Another morning in LA. A bit grey today. I’m due to meet my friend Roof at 11.45 and I don’t know what time it is anymore as every clock of mine is giving a different time. I get to our meeting early. Far too early. But he’s there. I can’t tell you how nice it is to see a familiar face from home. Especially a good-looking face from home.

He has to run off as he’s taking his brother to the airport. We arrange to meet later. Maybe but considering his plans I don’t think it’s going to happen. Still, briefly, it was nice to see someone I know from home. I feel a bit homesick today actually.

1.30pm. Lunch with some friends at ‘The Grove’. Now this is where I get pissed off. It’s my own fault. I was a pussy. So. We’re having a lovely lunch. One of LA’s most handsome boys, Chris. He is just beautiful. And then another guy and some girl I didn’t know. We ate. I’m being really frugal with money at the moment – I have none – so ordered lightly.

The bill came. ‘Hey, I’ll pay for you…’ said the other guy to the girl. The check/bill came and the other guys said "put $27 on mine" with all the authority in the world as he smiled at the girl. Chris and I looked at each other and said we’d split the rest as he had a salad to my omlette. Our bills came = we were paying $29. What? Huh? How could that be? Oh… because the other guy wasn’t paying for the girl. We were. I had no intention of paying for her but being a pussy I didn’t say anything. I was livid. And he got the credit for paying for her lunch. I should have said something. So, really, it’s all my fault. BUT I have learned a lesson. When going for lunch with ‘friends’, I’m going to get my bill separately and pay for what I’ve had. End of.

3pm. A BBQ at Anoushka’s house. She wasn’t there. Her flat mate George was. I met some nice people. One gay (guy), I think he was gay, Jason from New Zealand, we knew some people in common as he used to be a concierge back in London at the Sanderson. Anyway… he’s hooking me up with a gay who’s a PA to some director on the Paramount lot. I could do with tips.

I then bumped into another friend, Diane, who I’d met on a panel trip to a prison last time I was here in March. She’s very sweet. Caring. It’s nice to meet some caring people out here as I’m really feeling lonely today despite the fact it’s been busy busy busy.

7pm. Off to dinner with Mr B. He of the ‘ravaging’ from day one. Looks like Giovanni Ribisi, sounds like GR and women flock to him. The warning signals are going off in my head. We’ll be friends. I think. Nothing more. ‘Danger. Danger.’ That’s what my instincts saying. Shame. But there we go. He’s heterosexual as well. We have dinner at Toast and join this guy Mr L (as well as some one called Ashton – not him – a girl called Kira – not her and someone called Amy). Mr L… I was sadly excited to find out (he told me) that he was in the pilot of Beverly Hills 90210. That alone is enough for me. I love that show. Anyone who knows me knows I’m an Aaron Spelling freak. Surely? But, the more I find out about Mr L, the glow of 90210 begins to wane. He’s 38. Good. He’s an actor. Very bad. Bye bye Mr L.

9.30pm. Back to Mr B’s. I’d left my car there. I have an invite to go in to his.

10.30pm. Home. Shagged Mr B. Course I didn’t. Promise. I got in my car and drove home. And started my emails. Mr CAA’s glasses are now in my home. So I emailed his assistant at CAA… They’re still freaking out about these damn glasses, more castings for Mr X's film. More dramas. More airmiles and… things in London are falling apart. The tenants in Warwick road are causing a fuss about everything and I have no more money to sort this. I’m so horribly depressed. It’s just money though. I wish I had it to be depressed about. I really must remember to breathe.

I go to bed.

3.30am. My blackberry is buzzing non-stop with emails. The estate agent is on the warpath. I’m fucked. Horribly fucked.

The one where I officially start

So. Day one - that I officially start my job anyway. It’s weird. I’m here. I've been here five days. I'm finding my feet. Hitting the ground running. I have blisters. Literally. I need to by some trainers. And flip flops.

I’ve met my boss once and right now he’s in Rome. So, I'm here. Answering the phone, making appointments, trying to get a company credit card (bring it on) and working out what my job is.

It appears to be spending time setting up meetings and then dealing with the incompetence of others – can’t people tell me from the fucking off just WHO is going to be at these meetings, and exactly WHERE they’re going to be. It’s hardly rocket science. But people are stupid. Fick. Proper fick. But they like my accent, so that's cool.

The main agency that everyone bows down to is CAA. I’m told they have their own zipcode they’re so flash. Well. I call them on a daily basis. I have no idea who’s who, what’s going on, who the ‘players’ are… apparently I need to learn that. I’m finding it all a joke. It’s quiet today. The film opened and got beaten by Beverly Hills Chihuahua. So. One minute, literally, you’re the hot stuff in Hollywood and the next minute everyone’s jumping on the ‘let’s slate the film’ bandwagon. Still, he’s in Rome right now doing press so he doesn’t have to see it. I feel bad though, like the kiss of death. it was all going so well before I arrived?! Hopefully it'll pick up.

My computer has a virus. It’s horribly sick. I got it from Tam. So… I head to Tam's office and wait two hours while it’s repaired with the virus checker. The blackberry’s peeping all the while. Meanwhile, they’re doing their shit – Tam and I watch the last episode of Plus One. I miss home a lot now. Ingrid was fab and I even laughed out loud in places. I’m terribly proud of my friends. They’ve done a good job.

The other thing about America is the whole banking system. I have no 'credit history' so getting credit cards and banking stuff is hard. Everything's much harder than I thought. I order a credit card. They’ll only give me $300 credit. RUBBISH. And that's because I have no credit history here. Still. Jesus. $300?!? I then go to the post office. These are things I just don't know how to do over here, I feel like a retard.

I’m due at Zuma at 4pm to meet the landlord of Mr X’s house. Zuma is not nearby. Zuma is about 33 miles away. I know. That's nothing in England. NOTHING. But here? It's a lifetime away.

Zuma is nice. Stunning. But my dangerous speedy driving will get me into trouble one of these days. I try star spotting while in the car – especially at lights. I don’t think I’ve really seen anyone of note. I saw more people on Old Compton Street then I do here.

Anyway… I get to the house early. 3pm. There’s someone in the house. Stuff everywhere. Guy stuff. Then… these two ripped men appear out of nowhere. Mr X’s mates from the East Coast. Big. Buff. And proper ‘how you doin’ mentality. They’ve just come off the beach and, well it’s been a while, I probably gawped a bit. Okay. A lot. They looked buff and healthy. You don't get men like that in Shepherds Bush.

We chat. Or perhaps they chat and I flirt. I don’t know. Perhaps I flirted a lot.

The housekeeper turned up and showed me the pilot light, the broiler, the heater, the chimney and the ice machine. The things I’m learning. This is Hollywood life. She goes and I realise I’m fucked getting home. Leave now and I’ll be stuck in traffic for three hours so I’ve got to stay, well, I don’t have to, I choose to.

The boys – Frankie and Jimmy (of course) – are busy on their laptops discussing some email or another while I watch the sunset over Zuma. It couldn’t be any more perfect.

Now… it’s midnight in Rome. Mr X’s obviously just finished dinner and the emails come flying in on the blackberry. He wants printouts of the press cuttings, details of a film he’s heard about, his mileage account checked, emails to respond to from his friends and that’s just the start. Normal stuff for the job...

Something’s going on but he won’t tell me what. I check my blackberry again. Oooh. Minnie Driver’s email. And Jude Law. I need some new people to hang out with. LA can be lonely and I see from some magazine pictures at a party that Minnie’s in town. I decide against cold emailing her. I don’t think that would be cool right now.

Instead I’m emailing his publicist, him, the new york publicist and his agent’s office. Who, of course, are in the process of changing. That’s the thing about CAA, and LA in general, as far as I can tell, no one lasts long. I really thought I might have a chance getting to know one of them but no… I’m going to go in there next week. I wanna see this bad boy. CAA. How intimidating can it be?

Meanwhile, there’s my life going on in London. I’m still trying to rent the flat out. I think there are tenants BUT they want a fucking sofa. And a coffee table. I’m trying to buy one. On line. I buy one. It’s ordered. It’s amazing. BUT will take four weeks to arrive so the agency says no and picks one that costs £350. WTF? And the coffee table. It’s all a disaster. Yet more money? And the electrical testing? And the phone bill? And everything. I’m using my blackberry while on the freeway trying to sort my shit out. They need signed documents. I’m emailing them, no good, I’m faxing them, they’re not getting them. It seems like the world is incompetent. I’m doing my best here. I don't have a printer. The faxes aren't getting through. Everyone's expecting me to be on top of the situation and I'm not. It's thousands of miles and hours away and aaaargh.

I see online that QPR won tonight and it was snowing in London. I got sun burn. I know where I’d rather be. I then hear we played really well. A slight twinge. Still. Fuck it. I’m in LA. (See the picture of some of my QPR boys...)

I get a call. Do I want to write a book? Ghosting a biography for a friend’s book out here. It’d be a couple of grand up front immediately. I’m not sure. It’s not really my dream. Not today anyway. And also write for a new reality TV show that I'm not sure about. I'm not sure I 'get it'. It’s all opening up here but I’m just not sure. Or perhaps I'm just a bit scared of success...

I’m happy when I get to bed. But. What’s this? Peep peep. It’s 8am in Rome. Mr X’s up. A brief email exchange and then bed. Another day done.

The one where I meet Mr X for the first time

Day two - it brought more of the same. The paramount pitch, I need a credit card on his account so I had to order that, and the one line emails were flying in from Mr X. Book tickets for this, email the costumer designer from that, call this guy at CAA and give them my apologies that I can't make the screening, set up a meeting in early November with this cinematographer, set up a meeting with that guy at CAA and will my blackberry work in Europe? It's exciting. Really exciting. I'm in LA. I'm living the dream. This is why I'd moved over...

All this and I'd STILL not met him. BUT I knew his social security number, date of birth, daughter's birthday and all the ins and outs of his relationships. I mean everything. These are things I needed to know. I'm in charge of his schedule, his life... everything.

I headed off to get my nails done. They looked like shit. No one has bad nails here. No one. I'm there being buffed when I see this woman having hers done. I know her. I know I do. Fuck me if it isn't Dawn Porter, who I met at one of Liz's birthdays two years ago. She lives here now. We exchanged numbers as she lives round the corner from me. Small world.

3pm. I'm off to his production office to meet one of his producers. Three hours (and one parking ticket later) I'm more filled in. Knackered. But more filled in.

6pm. I've got fifteen minutes to meet Tamara and fly up to the Arclight to see a screening of Mr X's - we're due to meet. I'm sort of excited but I find it weird. Ms V had put the fear of god into me. Ms J, who worked for his brother, had reassured me. But I realised. This is real life. I'm a walking Entourage episode. I really am.

At the cinema, and Tam's there with Gina and friends.

No tickets for Tam and co though. God knows where they were. Warners were meant to leave them for them and we had five minutes... I came into my own. I got my tickets and demanded to see the event co-ordinator of the screening. "Hi. I'm Mr X's PA. I've got five people from Warner's who need walking through. Their tickets aren't there and the event's due to start. I need them in now." and then did the obligatory ‘help me help me’ look. It worked. I felt like a rockstar as we all walked through. I really did.

The film's long. And then there was a Q&A. I'm meeting my boss while he's doing a Q&A. Weird. I've been working for him for two days and I've still not met him. We had to wait. And wait. And wait.

Ms V was there. I felt slightly awkward. So I waited outside the cinema with the groupies and then there he was. Eventually I met him. My boss.

“Hi”… “I recognise that voice.” As well he bloody should as we’d been emailing and talking for a while now… So. I took out my notepad. I’m on my game. Lots of nodding, eye contact and I’m going to Zuma tomorrow to meet him properly. There are people listening. He’s cornered. I introduce myself to some people there. They’re snotty. Then I say I’m Mr X’s PA. Then they’re friendly. Wankers. There’s only so much of that I can take.

We drive back to Tam’s office, where we’d left the car. Tam’s boss and the woman who casts all of Mr X’s films, is still in the office. We chat. Her dog is mental, but lovely, racing around while we dissect life.

Tired. I go home. I've finally met Mr X and we start emailing at midnight through to 2am sorting out more stuff before our meeting tomorrow.

SATURDAY - off to Mr X's house

He lives in butt. fuck. nowhere. But next to Pierce Brosnan and five mins walk from Zuma Beach. But first? It's off to Beverley Hills, Rodeo Drive as it happens, to pick up his watch. I felt like a rockstar again, swinging my posh bag, filled with a watch that costs more than most of my possession in the US rolled together. Oh well.

I got lost on the way. It was SO far. SO far. I thought it couldn't be that far. It was. I drove fast. Very fast. But... I don't want to make this trip on a regular basis.

I got to the home. It has a pool. It's nice. But it's a long way from home.

It's hard to take someone seriously when their daughter has tied him up and put a purple tiara on his head. I get the lowdown on team Mr X. It's a lot to take in. Everyone seems very important. And I've not heard of any of them. But they're loyal. They love him. In fact, everyone I meet loves him. He's a creative genius - what's not to love?

I'm given more to do - sort out the blue tooth in his BMW, more gardening questions, the bin's gone walkabout. The housekeeper's not picking up the phone and I don't know where anything is. Mr X's gone off to High School Musical with his daughter (to collect tickets I really hope I bought for him!). Oh yes and download a book onto his i-pod. Now that took nearly an hour alone.

It's a long drive back. Long. And I've got two parties tonight. At least.

I met up with a friend. He took me to the gayest party I've ever been to. 40 men. And me. I'd made a vow in LA. No. More. Poufs. And what happens? I'm thrown into a party with gays. It had valet parking at the house. Posh. And the staff working it are from 'Adonis' catering. So I'm watching old gayers slavering over the food and the help. There was possibly one other woman but she looked so skinny she doesn't really count. She looked ill. They all produced or wrote gay films. Apart from one guy, who was editor of a magazine. Him I liked. He had a good tasche. But being around all the gays was slightly - what's the fucking point in this? So we went to my friend Nico's party. Slightly cunt soup. Slightly fun. The women here need to eat. One English skinny Lady was, incidentally, snotty unfriendly bag. Didn't like her at all. Why my friend bothered to give her a compliment I don't know. She's unpleasant. Horribly unpleasant. The party was Hollywood esque and just how these people could walk away afterwards and drive their cars? No idea. The booze consumption was immense.

I drove home through the mist and passed out into bed.

SUNDAY - no rest for the wicked.

Went to the beach with Eileen but ended up on the blackberry sorting stuff out. Silly stuff. Stuff not even worth mentioning anymore because you get the idea. I hope. It's a mixture of the mundane and the self important.

Saw the Changeling with Tam and started actually looking at my blackberry's contacts.

I have Johnny Depp's email. Whoop whoop! I’m excited.

There's an upside to everything I guess.