Miami, Unreal! Private Jets, Dancing! Sludge, Eh…

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Miami – Will Smith

Car services picks me up. 9 bells. Slightly late. Balls. Farewell to Bob. Out the door. Back to London. Single parenthood over. 9.15. Good to go. Off to Van Nuys. Private airport. Same one in Entourage, I’m told en route. The Man. The Jack. Chowder. Charlotta. And a late ape. Weekend break in Miami. The Man’s generosity knows no boundaries! Giddy up! Flight leaving at 10 bells. Are we going to miss our time slot because of the late ape? Nay. No check-in. No security. Nothing. Drive up to a gate. Press the buzzer. Stay in the car. Drive through. Drops you off at the jet. Hassle free. Private on. Nice jet? Unreal. Like a G6? I think so. Oh Jesus. Jump out. Driver takes care of your luggage. You can just admire the view. No ID check. No shoes off. Belt off. Pants down. Nada. Just stroll on. Sit down. Stewardess says hi. Champagne? Bloody Mary? Cup of tea? Ehhh. All three? Oh Betsy!! Drug barons must be zipping to and fro? Miami on!!!

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Check. Please. Balls.

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I’m a big fan of finding a gem of a song. Particularly if it’s a mostly unknown beast. Although I won’t lie. At times, I like to keep them a secret. Shh. Unleash during a DJig perhaps. Dodging and ducking trainspotters. Out with their phones. Ready to scribble down. Which song? This song? Or the one before? Not too sure really. I just played it? Ehh, not too sure. Shhecret on. Holding back. Initially at least. Another thing I might’ve unintentionally been holding back on lately, is how much fun it is to live in LA. Keeping the floodgates a tad tapered. Letting name-dropping fans down. Instead highlighting any and all obstacles, chasms, mountains or struggles I have been rollerblading through. The last four days have fully reminded me how much fun it is to live here. Big bucket full of fun. Continue Reading »