West Hollywood

I’m in the USA again. In the land where people talk about guns like we talk about human rights. As Nathan drove me to Heathrow Airport this morning, there was a piece about gun control on Radio 4. A load of Americans in a Colorado city which had suffered a major gun massacre were asked about their constitutional right to carry arms. When confronted with the idea that tighter gun control might save lives, one of them actually responded, “yes, it might save lives... but at what cost?” It was an answer which actually made Nathan and me gasp out loud.

The flight to LA is long and deeply boring. Being cooped up in a giant metal bird for over ten hours is something you just have to zen yourself out of. I was exhausted, but, as usual for me, every time I fell asleep, I immediately woke up again, gasping and flailing my arms about like someone with deep-routed psychological issues.

Fortunately no one was sitting next to me. In fact, Matt had actually bought me premium economy seats, so I had lots of terribly exciting trimmings. A foot rest. Proper headphones. Amazing food. I watched three films which included the atmospheric and moving Call Me By Your Name. The only issue with American Airlines is its staff, who always surprise me with their general grumpiness. Apparently it’s a known thing. Everything gets done in a real rush, and they walk down the aisle barking orders, tutting and sighing. One of them was really shouty as she told us “I can’t serve you a snack unless your table is out and flat.” 

The national airline of a country which prides itself on its service industry could perhaps do better?!

So, here I am in the West Hollywood Hills, in a little slice of paradise. We’re not that far from iconic streets like Sunset Boulevard and Santa Monica Boulevard, so we’re right in the middle of the American Dream. Hurray for Hollywood.

The sun is setting. I’m sitting in front of a fire pit by a swimming pool. Jasmine and bougenvillea drip from a tall bank of trees behind me. There’s an overpowering honey-like smell. There’s a hammock. There are twinkling lights. And, of course, because I’m in LA, there are enormous palms trees. My twelve year-old self would have been thrilled. I was obsessed with palm trees back then. 

But, because it’s now tomorrow at 8am in the UK, or something weird like that, I’m also jet-lagged. Time to sleep. Night!