So here I am, sat in a beautiful suite on the trillionth floor of the Renaissance Hollywood Hotel, feet on the table (sorry grandma), and laptop heating my nuts to a degree that must surely guarantee infertility for 36 months, and I am beginning to find it difficult to reconcile how fortunate I am in life right now, when compared to the life I was leading a couple of short months ago. The element of luxury I find myself surrounded by is afforded to me only by the fortune of who I befriended a decade ago, and there is a growing pit of guilt in my stomach that I'm taking advantage of the situation. I don't intend to be and really think that given how clear Chappers made it that I'm not, that it's true I'm not. Maybe it's the remains of some catholic blood in my family tree from a century ago, making itself known?
Enough of the maudlin stuff - this place is incredible!
I spent today at the Getty Museum, bathing my eyes in the glory of Titian and Gainsborough (amongst others). A pretty impressive collection especially as it's a private one. The experience does however serve to remind me how fortunate we are in Britain to have so many museums and galleries with world class art collections, opening their doors to the great unwashed free of charge. The collections available to just walk in off the streets of London are possibly the best in the world. I fully intend to remind myself of the culture on my doorstep when I eventually return.
Chappers met up with me this afternoon, after yet another furtive day of getting up to whatever it is he's been getting up to. He says I'll find out tomorrow afternoon, so I'll update this journal once I know more. I'm assuming he's been sorting out some wheels. If he turns up with a convertible Mustang then the maid here will be more convinced than ever that we're 'Friends of Dorothy'. Despite this being a twin room, she appears to be convinced we're gay lovers, and crosses herself whenever she enters and exits the room (as I found out this morning, sat wearing a towel, watching MTV while I dried the family jewels). She must think it's a den of sin and needs protection in case cleaning our shower suddenly turns her into a rampaging lesbian. I'm half tempted to leave half a dozen unwrapped condoms and a tube of lube (emptied) next to one of the beds on the day we check out. Would that be horrible of me?
Tomorrow I'm thinking of starting off the day by pissing off Elvis and Spiderman again. On Sunday I somehow ended up with a coach-load of American tourists, from somewhere unpronounceable in Idaho, having their photograph taken with me. They were convinced, thanks in no small part to my accent and designer clobber, that I was a bona fide celebrity. No amount of protestation would convince them otherwise. I wonder if the two who asked for autographs will ever wonder why Jude Law signs his name "Kris Casteel"? I don't even look like Jude Law, and why would he be out for a stroll on the Hollywood walk of fame anyway?! Anyhow, Elvis got the hump and was having a go that I was working his patch, and Spiderman joined in, asking to see my accreditation. I didn't realise just how camp Superman and Captain Jack Sparrow could be when hurling abuse either.
After that perhaps a movie in Grauman's Chinese Theatre- just to say I've done it. I'm led to believe by the internet that they're showing 'How To Lose Friends and Alienate People'. Fancy that - coming all the way out here, to watch a Simon Pegg movie!
Time to empty the mini-bar again. Night!
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