The one where I race to Zuma...

Piss. The pilot light man’s coming to the house in Zuma. I’ve got a meeting at 9am beforehand. And then… well… drive like the wind. I get there. The gas man’s there. So are Mr X's friends. The ‘How you doin?’ continues. They invite me to the cinema with them. I’m tempted. But I think it’s inappropriate.

One of them's in the pool. ‘Hey sweetie, can you check the heating’s on?’ I plod over and glance over into the pool. I think... yep... he’s stark bollock naked. I’m not complaining. But.... But. You know. Er. Well. I keep it together. “It’s on” I reply as I slink away back inside.

The sagas are ongoing... and meetings need to be finalised: the Paramount pitch and the meeting about the music and the meeting about the publicity. Meanwhile.. there’s a piece in Variety about Mr X and Mr A-Lister doing a project together. It’s not happening until next year. No one reads that and instead the phones in the production office are going a bit crazy – people offering themselves up for work. Bog off. But I can’t say that. It’s all mental here. People are desperate and I realise how lucky I am to have a job within the industry with a guy who, thus far, isn’t a dick.

Mr X's friends leave and I decide to go for a dip. Do I dare a skinny dip? I do. But it’s fucking cold so it was more a ‘oooh oooh oooh – too cold’ up to my waist. I dry off and ring Tam and boast about being in the pool while she's in the office.

There's a trampoline in the garden too. I decide to jump and see if I can spot Pierce Brosnan next door. I don't. But the trampoline's looking a bit scared. And fragile. I don't want to destroy it. Eeeeek. Now that would be a humiliating reason to get fired.

I leave Zuma. And it’s back to the production office. Picking up some sushi for Ms J, who works here. The blackberry’s off again. I’m having fun with the head of press for one of the major studios. It’s all good banter. And she appears to have a sense of humour.

Then, it’s more emails between me and the universe about Mr X’s film – I know assistants are busy but people aren’t giving me all the information I need so it’s weird. I'm chasing my tail the entire time.

Finally, the day’s over. Tam and I do Coreyoke. Well. Tam watched. Coreyoke – started by Corey Haim and Corey Feldman. They weren’t there tonight. But the band dress up as the Corey’s and you sing with a live band. ‘Walk Like An Egyptian’. That’s what I did. But the band is loud. I’m drowned out.

Tam tries to eyefuck the doorman. The bar’s called Happy Endings. I’m not sure if we’re in a gay bar or not. The boys are young. And hot. But young.

It’s been over two weeks without a cigarette. I’m sorely tempted. I leave for constant fag breaks with Tam. Just breathing in the smoke. I miss them. I do.

11.30pm. Home.

12.30am. Ping. Mr X’s in Rome still. Just getting back from the hotel. The email’s begin again. Ping. Ping. Ping. Eventually he tells me to go to bed. I don’t want to tell him I’m in the bath.

The following day

Weird day. More emails. More assistants to schmooze.

Then... it's off to one of the major studios to get myself set up with the financial team. I drive into their carpark. It's immense. Everything's big here. It's all about the industry. I’m still not sure how legal I am… I have a job now and they’re paying me directly as it’s linked to the film. I’m introduced to the team. I sort out money. It’s something I really need.

I’ve got mountains of press to print out. The printer’s weird. Everything’s weird. All the press is bleeding off the page. There’s a lot of shit. I miss home today. But... I love driving around still. I’m gaining weight though. That whole giving up smoking thing is bringing on the weight and I thought I’d lose a few pounds. I’m not. Grrrr. Gotta get that gut under control.

No sign, again, of celebrity sightings on the streets. Nada. I shouted at Pierce Brosnan’s dog yesterday though. Does that count? Otherwise, that’s it.

I went to meet a friend at this awful place. I hated it. We arranged to have dinner at Mel’s 24 hour diner. I got there. HE wasn’t there. I ordered. And phoned him. He was at the other diner. I ate alone and never heard from him again. I keep phoning. Nothing. My food arrives. Nothing. Turns out he was stopped by the police for a faulty breaklight on his way to meet me. I eat alone. A couple opposite me are face fucking. I leave.

Another day down in H-Wood.

The one where I have the Handover

Bless Ms V. She's lovely. Terribly sweet. And no idea why she got fired. Especially for a girl with no background in assistant work and a girl who's never met her boss. She gave me the run down. She made him sound terrifying. "When downloading stuff for his i-pod, you make a playlist and always miss out 'the' like 'rolling stones', not 'the rolling stones'... always get his air miles credited... always send him a schedule of his life twice a day... order him the same driver when he needs a car... he hates sitting in a back row on a plane... don't mention the dead dog (too late)... log every call... log every number... remember everything... call his publicity team.... call his agent... his agent's assistant... pick up his watch.... sort out his dish washer... and never gossip with his ex-wife. Ever." And so the list went on. She handed me a blackberry, a pile of receipts, a book of contacts and gave me a whistful smile of regret. And I felt bad.

After I drove her home and waved her goodbye, it all kicked off.

I had the phone. I had the power. Fuck.

And there was no charger for the blackberry. Fuck.

Where's the Scott Speedman DVD? Where can Warner's send a package to Mr X? Who's going to turn the pilot light on at Mr X's place (SoCal Gas as it happens... but what do I know of Californian gas companies)? What time's the pitch with the head of Paramount? Who's going to be there? What's available? Check with the co-writer... Check with Mr X... There's a fight co-ordinator in NYC. When's Mr X there for a meeting? Van Morrison tickets for the Hollywood bowl - he wants to go. I needed to get tickets. Oh and his Vacheron $10k watch. That needed picking up. A gift from his girlfriend (yet to meet). Fuck and Sundance needed some info from him. Where's the receipt for the dishwasher that was fixed? The landscape gardener needs to clear up, when's he coming? Who's fixing the screen door at the house? And then he's working across five or six projects, all of which are being co-written and I have to deal with who's who and what's what.

And my phone was dying.

And I heard that QPR had just sacked the manager. I barely flinched. I was busy finding out which project a Hollywood A-lister's working on with Mr X. Can I meet the A-Lister? I hope so.

I did it all. And I'm still not officially on staff. And... I've still not met my boss. We've been emailing. I collapsed into bed on Thursday night.