Starlight – The Supermen Lovers
Last Friday I had an early morning interview with the Sunday Independent (Irish newspaper). Feature of some sort. Not too sure what it was for. Either way. Mighty stuff. Good to go. Wake up. Answer the phone. How’s it going. First question. Only question. Eh. Balls. I don’t know the answer. Time to ramble on. Hour later. Get off the phone. Figure out I did know the answer. And it was such an easy question: Describe your typical day? Well. Now. Ha. Eh. I don’t know…
Morning – Woke up. Did an early morning newspaper interview.
Day time – Planned a stand-up tour. Wrote some of book two. And. Duu.
Night time – DJigged the night away. New venue. Better every week. Dance. On!
Oh What A Feeling...
Morning – Ate lots of porridge. Drank bowls of tea.
Day time – DJigged a Nicole Richie fashion event. Unveiling of her new clothing range. Think I offended Ms. Richie when she asked me to play her a song. Played Gypsy Woman. Mighty song. But I think she somehow thought it was a dig at her. It wasn’t. Also. I don’t think she got my joke when I said it would have her dancing… on the ceiling. Because your Dad is Lionel!!! Stoney silence. (Or else she got it but thought it was absolutely horrendous? Tomato. Pot. Ate. Toe.)
Also realised that: Being on TV = Power. Some people were ridiculously excited to see a TV celeb. Not sure what she does. But she’s on TV. And that makes her have this odd power. Not just to young folk and kids. People of all ages were clambering in excitement. Giddy grown men. Older women dressed up to the nines. All trying to stay cool. All out to impress. Out for a photo. Out for a souvenir. Out for anything! Just because she has been on a reality TV show. Capitalising on it big time in fairness. Smart woman. Seriously. Power on!
Night time – Birthday party shindig. Chowder and his twin brother Dan’s birthday. Rented out the penthouse of the Mondrian hotel. Slick venue. I think its previous tenant was a certain Ms. Spears. Totally. Amazing. Seeing as Chowder decided to wear slightly bizarre capri-jean-short-Pinocchio-style pants it was obviously then christened ‘Pinocchio and Dinocchio’s Birthday Bash!’ Hilarious.
Besides those pants. And despite claims from the hostess of it being ‘the worst party I’ve ever been to’, it was in my opinon… Pretty. Funking. Savage. Mighty party. Full of everything one would want. DJigging. Dancing. Booze. Food. Cake. Buddies. Swedish girls. Strops. Broken glass. Party crashers. Lloyd, from Entourage, who showed up with an entourage. All dudes. All kicked out. As one party goer remarked ‘You must be at least B-list to go on this ride!’ What else… Tears. Speeches. Heckling. Missing diamonds. Lawsuits. Broken lamps. Irate security guards. Complete randomers who happened to have read my book. Kenny Dalglish’s son. And… Random girls threatening to fight me and ‘f**k me up’. (My ability to make complete strangers instantly dislike me is going strong!) As I said: Mighty party. Hostess, take a bow!
Morning – Poolside. Sun. Lounger. Mimosas. Mojitos. Blood Mary. Cured.
Day time – See above.
Night time – Get picked up by a driver. Prancing Pam. Chauffeured down to Cecconi’s restaurant. The Man is in town. Mighty man. Mighty dancing. Fine dining all the way. Octopus. Scallops. Sea bass. Porridge. Pudding. Potato racism. The works! Rosé flowing. Banter going. Unreal meal. Although to make matters even worse and almost completely unbearable, we then had to end the night having to deal with this horrific view…
Tut. Tough few days. Ahem. Typical few days? I think. I don’t know. At least I do know the simple answer to that question now though: No such thing as a typical day in LA. Random. Dumb. Fun. Which is probably why I called my first book…
Take Your Time – Germany Germany