I was listening to one of the in-flight music channels on my headphones on my way to LA when the piece finished and a female voice said seductively "We are American Airlines, we know why you fly" before another piece of music started. I find it a little spooky that Americans Airlines know the reason all it's passengers are travelling with them, it must take them a huge amount of eves dropping or Blog reading to gather all this information, and what practical purpose does it have? The only advantage would be if someone where using the airlines to fly somewhere and commit a crime, in which instance the airline could inform the authorities at the destination and they could arrest the person before any harm was done.
Criminals wanting to travel around the world to commit a crime had better steer clear of American Airlines, because the game would almost certainly be up. Also, if someone was planning on flying somewhere to surprise a loved one, but that loved one wasn't really that bothered about seeing them, or was having an affair, American Airlines could phone ahead to that person and warn them to expect a surprise visitor. Well done American Airlines, you provide a valuable service.
Provide some free drinks and you'll really be making headway. They charge in economy now! Where's the fun in paying for drinks on a plane I ask you? Truly civilisation is in disarray when you're paying for your drinks on a long haul flight.
Truly civilisation is in disarray when you're the only person on the plane in a suit and tie too. Honestly, I was the only one. The row in front of me was where business class started and the standard of dress in there was appalling. Sandals. Shorts. I had a good mind to say to the stewardess "Look at how I've bothered to present myself for this flight. This tie is from Geives And Hawkes. Now look at this lot. It's clear that I should be the one enjoying business class comfort and they should be back here in my rubbish seat, like the oafs they are. No I will not sit down. Let go of me!"
The earphones I was listening to American Airlines creepy announcements on were new off the duty free trolley. They are special noise reduction earphones that somehow manage to cancel out exterior, unwanted noise (such as the roar of the engines in an aircraft cabin) allowing you either some peace or a better environment to listen to music. I don't know how these noise reduction earphones work, it's something to do with sensing the frequency of the unwanted noise, and then playing a different frequency that cancels it. Or something. Anyway they're a Godsend and allowed me to get some shut eye on the twelve hour voyage. But it got me to thinking; if they can develop a set of headphones that can cancel out unwanted frequency, how many years away are we from developing a set of headphones that only picks out important information clearly, leaving inconsequential, uninteresting or useless information out? It would be great to be in a business meeting, or on a date, and wear these headphones that give you some restful silence until your colleagues, or your date, says something relevant in which case it broadcasts it with extra clarity into your brain. No more exasperated bosses saying "Bob? You with us on this?" or "Have you been listening to a word I've been saying? She's a very ill cat."
I suppose developers of such a product need only base it on the male ear for maximum efficiency. We've been panning our conversations for little nuggets of gold and discarding the dirt since the dawn of time.
People are worried about DVT or Deep Vein Thrombosis on flights now, and so you get the sight of passengers wandering up and down the isle, doing little stretching exercises. I was sat by the isle when an enormous figure appeared beside me, about an inch from the side of my head and started to sort of jog on the spot. I didn't mind this for a few seconds, but had to keep moving my head slightly to the side because his elbows were in dangerous proximity and even though he was unlikely to accidentally hit me, his lack of regard for personal space was annoying after a couple of minutes. Then he started casually 'adjusting' himself about an inch from my face and so I had to look across the cabin at something else. Truly, this man knew nothing about personal space. Nothing. But I could imagine it being a funny scene to watch if I wasn't on the receiving end and so I dug around in my bag for the Tolerance notepad and wrote it down. This is the great thing about Tolerance, the more annoying stuff that happens to me, the more material I get.
I like the maps you can get on your little screen that show your progress and flight status. You get a world view, which a little red line following your plane's painfully slow progress on a global scale, then you get information about your height and speed, then you get maps that are on a smaller scale, and show the names of places you are near. Over Idaho there were so many that sounded inviting. Clearwater Mountains. Salmon River Mountains. Crater Lake. Jackpot. Idaho Falls. Cascade Reservoir. Hells Canyon. Boice (which I liked because it sounds a bit like Boycie from Only Fools And Horses), Eureka, Spokane. All places I'll most likely never get to see. Cascade Reservoir sounds great doesn't it? And the terrain looks lush and mountainous. I like the sound of a town called Jackpot, too. If I ever get to go to either of these places I'll be able to look back at this Blog entry and revel in a strange and impromptu wish fulfilled.
Landed and took a cab along the packed freeway to West Hollywood, a forty minute drive. There's something so gratifying and exciting about arriving in a foreign land, but something extra when that foreign land is already familiar to you from continual exposure on screen. Indeed, you can't escape the thrilling references, even in the road signs. Signs pointing to Hollywood, Santa Barbara, San Diego. It's romantic, but set against a very unpretty backdrop of continual urban sprawl. LA is low-rise, and stretches for countless, undistinguished miles. But that doesn't take anything away from it, because for the visitor these countless, undistinguished miles are pure fantasy.
My hotel is called The Grafton On Sunset, being as it is on Sunset Boulevard and modelled on The Grafton Nightclub in Liverpool. No, that last bit isn't true. It's an art deco affair, looks perfectly fine, but seeing as I'm on a budget I'd booked a class of room called 'Hip On The Strip' which doesn't have any windows and comes with free ear plugs because of the bar upstairs. No matter, I was in LA, or La La Land, and it was with barely unsuppressible excitement that I headed out into the sun and began an aimless walk down Sunset, which I've found to be it's own community, not quite West Hollywood, not quite Beverly Hills, and full of enough to keep you occupied for a week or so if you wished. It's where a great number of the best restaurants and bars are located. I'd got a good spec.
I went into a Mexican bar for a couple of beers and a burrito, and struck up conversation with a guy on his own sat next to be at the long table on the patio. He told me every cliché about Los Angeles in invariably true, before pointing out that he was an actor. Everyone's an actor. I've seen one bloke wearing a T-shirt that ironically read 'Actor' on the front. He was recently in a Clint Eastwood film, and whilst modest about it and meeting the great man, allowed me to see that name dropping is absolutely par for the course here. It's how you get ahead I suppose. He was very pleasant and gave me a few tips. It's impossible to understate how important it is to go straight to a bar and strike up conversation as soon as you arrive as a solo traveller in a new city - they're better than any guidebook.
I already knew where I was going next however, it was all planned. The little I do know about the old school Hollywood scene is still enough to consider The Beverly Hills Hotel with some reverence. The place is legendary. It's an utterly charming hotel built in 1912, which in LA terms is about 1654, and is the playground for every star, producer, and director that's ever lived. I was still suited from the flight and so felt confident making my way into The Polo Bar and taking a seat outside in the beguiling courtyard, but I was being far too British. People don't dress up here, it's the most casual city in the world. I ordered a martini and felt a curious sense of being entirely at home - this bar is quite wonderful. Not only is it beautiful, especially outside in this private garden on a sunny afternoon, but the staff are great. Not snooty like the equivalent establishment would be back home, but grinning, humorous, and meet some customers like old friends, giving them a hug.
I got chatting to one of the waiters, and said that one of my dream scenarios whilst in LA would be to bump into Larry David. He said that Larry's a regular here, as I suppose is everyone else, and we chatted about celebrity for a bit. He subtly motioned to my right, smiled and moved off. I glanced over after a few seconds and saw that I was sat next to Tim Burton, one of my favourite directors, which just made me smile. Here I was, fresh off a plane and in LA for the first time, sat in The Beverly Hills Hotel and Tim Burton's next to me, albeit behind a bit of vegetation. I couldn't quite see who he was chatting with and after a while curiosity got the better of me and I shifted my seat a bit to see. Johnny Depp. So that's not such a bad celebrity spot, is it? I leaned back took a sip of my very reasonably priced Grey Goose martini (about £7) - is this really what life here is like, sitting next to Tim Burton and Johnny Depp all day? Well no, it most certainly isn't for 99.99% of people, but for the lucky visitor, you could almost believe that this is simply how everyone spends their time.
I moved on from the bar because I quite liked the idea of having something more interesting to do than sit next to Johnny Depp but in truth I did, I had a whole city to explore and so little time. I'd planned my next destination too - the Cat And Fiddle Pub, about five miles away, still on Sunset Boulevard.
I've got really nerdy reasons for wanting to go here, and normally I'd steer a thousand miles clear of an English theme pub whilst abroad, but it was Morrissey's favourite hangout when he lived here up until recently. I know, I'm hopeless. The Great Man wasn't there however, but I immediately made friends with some locals (thankfully there were no English people there) and this led to a game of darts with a Russian called Vladimir. He's about twenty five, but had a modelling career cut short after being shot in the face with a shot gun. They've done an excellent job rebuilding him, but it took the modelling away, and it was a case of a Hollywood dream shattered. Why do I mention this? Oh, well because I suppose it was in direct contrast to the millionaires at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The haves and the have nots. People flock to LA wanting fame and fortune, and whilst they know the odds, having you chin blown off certainly isn't going to help.
The Cat And Fiddle might well be an English theme pub, but I didn't have the heart to tell them it bears to relation to any pub I've been in. It's more Mexican, with a courtyard at the front about which people sat and drank around a fountain. Inside, an open plan room feels to airy and smoke free to ever be either British, or indeed a pub. But it's nice. There was a print of an old map of the South East of England on the wall, dated 1587. I found the village where I grew up, Marden, and found it strange that you can travel five and a half thousand miles and still find little reminders, or indeed references, to home.
My last stop was the Sky Bar. Apparently this is quite exclusive and you have to be a guest at the hotel or invited. I blagged by way past the red rope by Hugh Granting it. You Hugh Grant it by being a bit befuddled and confused in your hopeless Englishness. "You a guest at the hotel, Sir?" said the doorman. "Oh, yeah, yeah. I, um, I though this is how I got in?"
"No Sir. You could have gone straight through the hotel."
"Right. Yeah. Sorry. Great. Thanks."
I'm sure Hugh Grant Hugh Granted himself into the industry but being more Hugh Grant than anyone else.
The Sky Bar is attractive, and full of very attractive people. People lounge on mattresses around a lit pool, and as it's up in the hills, you have a panorama of endless LA below you, blinking. I was drunk now through and only managed a couple of gin and tonics before I could tell my conversation with a couple of Israelis was descending into nonsense. My hotel was next door and I felt drunker as I made my way to my room so changed into shorts and dived into the pool to try and sober up. It worked enough for me to sleep. This is a fascinating place.
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