Being white middle aged Englishmen, Sean and I go to Compton.
See a hooker with no shoes turning tricks on Slauson at 7.30am. God bless.
Do my famous drive-thru tour of Hollywood for Sean and even swing back by Jim Morrison's place in Laurel Canyon, calling at the store "Where the Creatures meet" for a cup of Joe.
Back at the hotel for breakfast only to learn Sean had room service again. Fucking big time!
Suggest we go rollerblading.
$10 an hour. I quit after 2 minutes. I did a fall that must have looked like I slipped on a banana peel. I think I felt the juice squeezing out of the disc in my spine. 30 minutes later I learn Maria has fallen so I have to get the car to pick her up.
Santa Monica beach really is full of hot surfer dudes and girls in bikinis playing beach volleyball. Naturally Sean, Kim and I + our bonus LA colleague Sam pitch up for a game of 2 a-side. Over the next hour we have only 3 plays of more than 2 hits.
A quick change and away we go for a bus tour of where the stars live (or to be more precise, the security gates of the rich and famous).
Open top van. Piss! Pull a grossly stained duvet over my face. It's that cold people. Have a great time ragging on famous people, and Hugh Jackman.
Finish the night with a spin around Griffith Park and a return trip (for me) to The Dresden. Marty and Elayne always in the house.