The Science Fiction Fan and Torchwood: COE.

This entry contains spoilers for the third season of Torchwood. If you've somehow missed them already, keep it that way, and do not scroll down.



The way I see it, Firefly only got one season. Torchwood's had three. It's been a blast. If this is the end, then I can say I enjoyed it hugely. If there's a fourth season, I will tune in. Because the people behind this show have been wonderful. It's sad to think of our Torchwood going forever (even a fourth season would mean a different show really) but fuck me if that wasn't some of the finest drama the UK ever kicked out.

But I maintain my stance that the alien is just too snotty. Surely extra-terrestrial life would be more chilling if it wasn't made from guacamole. But hey, my stuff.

At least Ianto got a beautiful send off. He was never a blip in time. And GDL had a wonderful scene to play. That poor boy must be so relieved to finally be able to talk about it now. All of them really.

As for hatred directed at our writers, they are all story-tellers. Please don't hate them for engaging your hearts. However. I fully appreciate the anger from devoted fans at the distinct change in style/genre and that we were arguably mislead by the promotional material.

So what happened? Was it purely a ratings fest? Was it emotional exploitation?

Torchwood derived from a Sci Fi show, and while the writers conveniently refused to pigeon hole the show's genre, it is inescapably Sci Fi as we know it. Because of the aliens. Gwen said herself, 'science fiction super-base'.

But then they insisted that Torchwood is in the real world and terrible things could happen, as they did to Owen and Tosh, though not before 2 seasons of whacky anything-can-happen including Owen getting to 'die forever', characters coming out of film, space whales, gas sex aliens, time travel, and blow fish driving sports cars. There was humour. There were hints of Buffy. There were slithers of Star Trek. There were ripples of Doctor Who and shadows of The X Files. I would say Spooks but Spooks didn't drive around in a giant flashy A-Team mobile with bright yellow writing saying 'SPIES', and that was part of Torchwood's charm. And then there were conventions for fans and action figures. Science Fiction much.

But not in season three. That was not the Torchwood we fell in love with. Children of Earth became Spooks meets The West Wing with an Alien and a sure path to prozac.

Whilst I think that it was excellent drama and deserves every award going in every category, and while I'll continue to support the writers and the actors, I cannot get over the fact that Torchwood seemed to switch genre for its third season. I'm all for the post-modern approach of taking elements from many genres, but The West Wing didn't have sci fi conventions or action figures. Why? Because it was 'real'. I mean, it was total glossy fiction, but it was a political drama. And at times, very depressing. The West Wing, while I know many of us have appreciated it, was not for the Sci Fi fan.

Why? I had the same discussion in my 'Psychoanalysis and The Moving Image' class with my professor at university several years ago, when I was studying film in London.

Escapism.

Here's what I think/feel. I read a comment from a woman on James Moran's blog this morning saying she could accept the death of Ianto because it was 'real'. I for one have lived and loved and lost enough to know what 'real' feels like. It's brutal. And I'm living in luxury compared to most of the world. An indian friend of mine said that Slumdog Millionnaire wasn't popular in India because the Indian people don't want to be reminded of the world they live in. They prefer Bollywood musicals. And I am of the opinion, having been in love with Harry Potter, Buffy, Star Trek and Doctor Who that I also want that escapism. I don't live in slums, but I haven't lived in paradise, and what Sci Fi shows have taught us over the years is to conceive of and strive for a better world. Who the Hell wants 'real'?

I'm not suggesting we all watch Baywatch, either.

A great deal of the world is genuinely in Hell already. CoE was right about many things (distressing as it was to hear). A child dies every 3 seconds. We do nothing. Look at the Niger Delta. Look at Iran. Horror and injustice are everywhere. CoE ended with members of the government doing the brave thing which I thought was uplifting. But that was ANOTHER show. It shouldn't have been Torchwood. Torchwood was fun.

We have half the world (or more) living in horror and the other half watching it for entertainment. Yes it was thought provoking and I can't fault that. I do what I can in real life, I really do. But as a Sci Fi fan, I don't want to be devastated so casually. And I don't want to see terrible things happen to characters I love. You want to destroy people and things? Blow up Eastenders and Walford. They're all miserable cowards anyway. But don't touch our heroes.

If or rather when a fourth series comes about, of course I'll watch it because the curiosity will be too much. It won't be Torchwood as we've known it. But it should be John Barrowman. However, if it continues in a torturous, suffering vain, I won't stay with it, because I can't watch. I don't read or watch horror. I had to give up on Spooks. Even The West Wing began to sting too much after the fourth season.

It's not that I want to ignore the terrible aspects of the world we live in and bury my head in the sand - quite the opposite. I need to be strong and couragious and have hope in my heart - to survive. I'm all to aware that there is senseless death every moment. But ultimately I can't watch human suffering. On Star Trek or Buffy we have metaphorical scenarios which present an opportunity to engage emotionally - the feelings are real but the situation is separate from you, like a fairy tale. You're safe. But that doesn't seem to be Torchwood's mission statement.

The recent season finales of Doctor Who and Torchwood have been 'let's torture the leading man as much as possible'. I'm looking forward to Stephen 'everybody lives' Moffat! If this makes me a lightweight, I fully embrace it.

I was thinking about Buffy and how season 5 ended, yet they came back. But there was a whole gang AND a location. We have no hub, no Cardiff, no SUV, no Ianto and can we ever expect any humour again? Why would anyone want to watch our beloved Jack suffer so much?

Maybe this is an interesting lesson in audience expectations. Two seasons of quirky fantasy/Sci Fi fun and then they go 'real' on us. I was looking at the promotional material too. It doesn't exactly smack of realist drama, does it? Those pictures are as cheesy and stylised as they can get (with glorified guns thrown in which is interesting for a show born out of Doctor Who) And all the Jack and Ianto pics... it does feel like a tease. To get ratings?

I'm disappointed and I feel quite bereft - not just for Ianto but for everything this show was and/or could have been. Yes it was excellent, excellent drama taking huge risks and examining humanity at its darkest.

But it's as if J K Rowling took Harry, Hermione and Ron, flew them to Ghana where Ron and Hermione were killed, before bombing Hogwarts and wiping out the Wizard race and Harry has to sacrifice Ginny to make Voldemort leave to save the muggles. In book 6. And then announcing that she's going to wait to see how the book sells before writing book 7.

I hope Comic Con will be warm and receptive and not Comic Confrontation. Without the comic. I maintain I do not advocate abuse or unkindess to anyone in the creative team. I have seen drafted complaint letters floating around which are fairly eloquent, but still quite childish in their approach. If you want to say you're disappointed, say it, but don't stamp your feet. Be eloquent, intelligent and as unemotional as you can be. That will be more effective. Try to specify the reasons you feel let down, but if it's because Ianto died they may consider that as a triumph because it provoked an emotional reaction from you, so be as 'professional' in your approach as you can.

Perhaps RTD is such a genius that there is in fact a simple remedy and season four can be everything we wanted, and we just can't envisage it through our teary eyes. Unlikely I know. But hey. I have to be hopeful. I am a Sci Fi fan. I run on hope. Not horror. I just hope it doesn't mean I'll no longer be able to enjoy a show I really, really loved.

Extended and Intended

My cousin gave birth to twin boys yesterday. Eight weeks earlier than planned. They weigh 3lbs and 2lbs and are in intensive care, but they are perfectly formed and expected to survive. The little one didn't appear to be getting food (the bigger one may have been sitting on the food tube), but he's 'feisty' according to my grandmother. So they're following the family spirit of survival.

Techically I now have two more second cousins to add to the nine already taking over the planet, the eldest of which is already on Facebook. Weird. So from my two grandparents, there are eight children (spanning ages 43-66), twenty grandchildren (spanning ages 14-39) and, so far, eleven great grandchildren (spanning one day old to 11).

Bloody hell. We are a plague.

To top it all off, my sister is getting her fourth dog in two week's time. Monty, the Malamute:



This is on top of Ruby the Alaskan Malamute, Harvey the Hungarian (I want to say Horntail, thanks JK) Wirehaired Vizsla and Bazil the Border Terrier:



*Marlon Brando voice* Welcome to the family.

Yes. I am homesick.

MC Hitler in da House

The BNP requires that all members must be members of the "Indigenous Caucasian" racial group. The party does not regard non-white people as being ethnically British, even if they have been born in the UK and are naturalised British citizens. Instead, Griffin has stated that "non-Europeans who stay", while protected by British law, "will be regarded as permanent guests".

We bang on about Islam. Why? Because to the ordinary public out there it's the thing they can understand. It's the thing the newspaper editors sell newspapers with. If we were to attack some other ethnic group — some people say we should attack the Jews … But … we've got to get to power. And if that was an issue we chose to bang on about when the press don't talk about it … the public would just think we were barking mad. They'd just think oh, you're attacking Jews just because you want to attack Jews. You're attacking this group of powerful Zionists just because you want to take poor Manny Cohen the tailor and shove him in a gas chamber. That's what the public would think. It wouldn't get us anywhere other than stepping backwards. It would lock us in a little box; the public would think "extremist crank lunatics, nothing to do with me." And we wouldn't get power.
- Nick Griffin, Leader of the British National Party, March 2006. He just got a seat in European Parliament.

Nice one, Europe. Now the Nazis are back in. Great going. That'll really help rebuild the economy (they're ever so efficient). And once they start killing people, it will slow down climate change because there will be fewer people to tread their carbon footprints across this beautiful and bountiful aryan empire.

It's a great day for white supremicists and Holocaust deniers everywhere. And those opposed to interracial relationships.

And if you're booked on a flight anytime soon, there's no need to worry. No muslims will be allowed to fly so you can rest easy.

And we can look forward to the 'moral turpitude and disease' brought about by homosexuality which is of course 'unnatural' being squashed once and for all.

Excuse me for a moment. I need to throw up before watching Battle of Britain footage and taking notes.

Woe, woe for England.

The Present Day

There is nothing worse than a blank page staring at you, mocking you, daring you to have something remotely original or interesting to say. I have neither, I promise you. I guarantee nothing original or interesting. All I have is my story. Which may only appeal to one person. And that's possibly my stalker. But it's my story and I'm going to tell it. So feel free to dip in and out.

I started this blog in March 2007 because I was travelling and teaching in Spain before throwing myself fully into acting. It kept me relatively sane and amused quite a few people. I then took a break from it whilst life sort of did its cute little thing of happening and believe me when I say those are stories no-one wants to hear. At least not without the security of knowing that those stories are now retro-anecdotes with a rosey comic and/or ironic tint as delivered by the now safe and sound author.

What I'm trying to say is shit happened, and I'm now in a position to make it funny. Ish. But I'm not going to try and cover everything in one fell swoop. I'm just going to gently bring you up to date.

Back in 2007, I walked across Spain - El Camino de Santiago. Quite the adventure. Also went to Las Vegas in August to meet and interview Kristine M Smith about Deforest Kelley for the 40th anniversary of Star Trek. That was fun. Quite the geekorama but I spent most of my time in the $18m pool enjoying the desert heat. I then returned to England to tie up various things with a view to taking my chances in the US (Los Angeles).

I had plane ticket to explore the New World properly but that's when things imploded. My dad was killed by the French (walked into a van in Paris driven by a Congolese gentleman because he looked the wrong way... so there's a chance I'm being liberal with that synopsis), flat sale fell through because the pussy buying it broke his arm on contract day, and I had to find a job (a proper one).

Then I took a dramatic fall (or rather a very stupid and undramatic fall off the tiniest step in the whole world) and couldn't walk properly for several months at which point we're in 2008, finally selling the flat and then one day I woke up and realised I was free. And my foot was working. That brings us nicely to September 2008. (There was a psycho boyfriend, an inquest report and a scary roommate during that time but I'm saving it for my sitcom).

Then following various acting jobs there was an audition in LA. Then I got signed by a nice man. He's an agent and everything. Which helps. I went back to the UK, filmed one or two things in London and Cardiff for the BBC which was fun and then I moved to LA in December. And here I am.

There are certain procedures when entering a country like America which I'm still under-going. Visa stuff. So I have spent most of the last 6 months meeting people and exploring. And going a bit cuckoo.

My insanity was temporarily lifted/further fuelled by attending the Gallifrey One (Doctor who) Convention in LA. I met several writers and several luverly people and enjoyed being pursued by a Dalek. And hiding in the TARDIS.



It's always inspiring to hear these people (writers, producers, actors) talk. I mean, once you're over the profound and all-consuming jealousy. But really. It was fun. Like the Star Trek convention I spent most of the time chatting to people and being slightly disconcerted by the amount of people in costume, but there was no pool this time. Totally hit it off with Colin Baker who was distressed at having to actually audition for things again. Actors have it so rough. There are only a few acting jobs in London, and I think John Barrowman's got all of them.


Another LA Story


Suicide Rock, Hiking in Idyllwild.

So. Quick LA recap: Four days after I arrived, a man living in the building opposite me fell off his 5th floor balcony whilst in a crack-induced stupor. Completely naked. At 10.30am on a Sunday. I mean, it's not like there's ever a good time for that sort of thing but I'm quite sure that 10.30am on a Sunday is not the most appropriate time to fall naked and cracked-out from a balcony. We thought we heard a gun shot. But it was him landing. I went into 'save a life mode' (little bit of fall-out from the perpetual bereavement) and ran like the wind. Suffice to say I could never be a paramedic. If I ever get alzeimers I'm hoping that this image is the first to go.

He died within the hour. I did try to save him but the only reason he didn't die instantly was because the cocaine stopped his brain from realising he'd fallen to his death. That was horrific. He was 30 years old and this was 3 days before Christmas. Plus I kept thinking about the people who'd rushed to my dad when he had his accident and what they must have seen. Horrible. I decided at that point that I would not live in Hollywood.

I made the mistake of relating this event to my brother over the phone. I was upset. I was not thinking. Of course my brother reacted the way any older brother would. Kind of a 'get the f**k out of there' reaction. But I firmly believe that cracked-up naked men falling to their death from balconies is an omni-geographical issue. But nevertheless, I moved away from Hollywood and stayed with a man I'd just met at a party who lived in Venice Beach. I did not tell my brother about that.

The man turned out to be very, very cool and is one of my closest friends here. We shared a spirit of adventure. You know, the "HEY wanna drive from LA to Washington DC to see Obama's inauguration and then drive back and see loads of stuff?" kind of spirit of adventure.

Consequently, we drove through 15 States and back to see America's first black president inaugurated. I took in the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis which taught me about a lot of things I hadn't fully appreciated whilst snuggled in my idealistic view on the world. I walked around the museum in tears. I've stubbornly insisted that it's no big deal that Obama's black because it doesn't matter. I now understand that I've been very lucky to have the kind of life where it hasn't mattered. I get it now.

It was a monumental day, but honestly my residing memory is being sure that my toes were going to snap off in the freezing cold. I have never been so cold in my entire life. It hurt like hell. I had to take pain killers. 7 hours in a field. The grand children better bloody well appreciate that one.



I saw Southern California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia (total blizzard), froze to death in DC but was revived by how incredibly beautiful it is. Then travelled through Ohio and Indiana to Illinois where we stopped to stay with friends and enjoy Chicago. In January. Chicago. In January. Seriously. Why do people live there?? I was traumatised getting from the car to the house. The snow looked gorgeous, though. And Lake Michigan I just wanted to skate across.

We returned through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah and back into Arizona again. I saw the Rockies. I saw Monument Valley. I had the best damn coffee ever in a Mexican bar in Arizona. Saw the Grand Canyon. Again. (Saw it the year before when in Las Vegas, Nevada). Which brings me up to a total of 16 States. Not bad. Though I totally slept though Indiana. I was also deeply impressed that despite the bitter cold, the midwest still managed to stink of shit.

People asked what my parents thought of my travelling across the USA with a man I'd known for a couple of weeks. I explained I was at an advantage because they were dead. That's a conversation stopper. But in any case, he'd had plenty of opportunities to murder me before we got in a car together. And to date, he still hasn't tried to. Nice guy.

Lately my travelling has been restricted to California: Hiking in Idyllwild and Malibu, visiting San Francisco and returning down the coastal route to LA. Amazing things. And still no-one has tried to murder me. Phew.



The Present Day.

It's June. I have a house to live in and a car to drive (and that's an adventure in itself. I leave my will somewhere accessible everytime I take the freeway). I've met people who have come to LA from India, Spain, France, Germany, Syria, Nigeria, Canada, Korea, Australia, and of course the UK. It's the same language mostly but so many words mean different things which can lead to severe confusion. They don't use the word savoury. How can people live like that?

Deforest Kelley's 10 year anniversary is coming up. I just had an article of mine published in the latest book about him: The Enduring Legacy of Deforest Kelley. Later this month I will be hosting his biographer. So I'm still doing the same stuff I started out doing when I first came to America. It's almost as if the cyclone never hit. Except I can't Skype my dad, which will never be OK. Ever. Death is such a crap idea.

Anyway, I just completed my first novel. I am working on a script. I am waiting for auditions and trying not to die of envy every time I hear anything about Doctor Who, my beloved English show which I blame for all this fiery ambition. I nearly went to Chicago this weekend (June, much warmer and more sensible) to write up the goings on at the Torchsong convention (another sci fi thing), but I forgot to earn money so it was impossible. Plus it hasn't exactly gone to plan up there. I may have to capture the cast in a butterfly net and keep them in a padded cell.

So that brings us to the present day. I have a big birthday party coming up. There's also a bouncy castle picnic party in Griffith Park on June 14th. That alone is a reason to live for anyone out there currently experiencing despair. A bouncy castle. Picnic party. And it's free! Come ON people! Then I'm visiting the UK in July to remember what it looks like, check in with English and Welsh agents, and relax in the arms of my grandmother. Oh, and stock up on jelly babies, maltesers and E45 face cream. America has some serious short-comings.

In the meantime, I have a month to write far too many things and conduct some thorough research (watch HBO shows). So back to the grindstone. I shall try to update you with various adventures and whatnot but sometimes life does that cute little thing again and before you know it I'm on an art walk carrying a 10 week old puppy meeting people from all over the world and being asked out to a Woody Allen movie press screening. Or I'm rock climbing. Or I'm learning to surf. And then staying up till 4am editing my book. And meeting stunt men from Star Trek Origins. And spending time with writers for pilot shows I can't even discuss here for fear of leakage.

I just keep thinking... this is so cool.

But even so I cannot wait to see my grandmother.

Green Eyed Monster

I've always wanted to be on Doctor Who. I always wanted to be The Doctor rather than the assistant because when I was a kid, the assistant was Bonnie Langford. So, you know... she made Sylvester McCoy look like Neo from the Matrix.

Then it was Sophie Aldred who was much cooler because she was on CBBC and she was a rebel. But still, I wanted to be the Time Lord rather than the girl.

That is, of course, until 2005 when Billie Piper came along and kicked ass. Since then, whilst keeping one foot on the realistic ground (yadda yadda yadda), I've wanted to play that part. It has a lot to do with not being 9 anymore and recognising that it is highly unlikely there will ever be a female Time Lord (who would take that risk - I mean REALLY?) but mostly, women can have things to do now, besides looking pretty and screaming.

Now I will always and forever dream of being the assistant/companion, no matter what. I will always be in love with Rose. I will always gibber in the presence of Billie Piper and Freema Agyeman. I will need CPR in the presence of Catherine Tate. I will die instantly if I know John Barrowman is in the same building. That's the fangirl side and I refuse to be ashamed of being inspired and excited - of feeling like that 9 year old again. I love loving something this much.

The professional side is what it is. Andy Pryor wouldn't know me if he sprinkled me on his cappucino, despite my efforts. So after many years I've marched away from the glass ceiling in the UK and gone to Follywood. 5,500 miles away from Cardiff/London it's a different story.

So the fangirl pouts - they don't have Daleks in Los Angeles. (Well they did in February and it was awfully nice). But the professional writes so much she gets back ache and blinks in disbelief as she registers the hours and days that are passing at warp speed as she disappears into another Universe of her own creation. Things are going well here.

So today, the latest companion was announced. I'm so jealous. I'm so jealous. I'm so so so jealous. But I can't wait to fall in love with her as well. I can't wait for Moffat to make me feel 9 years old again. How much do I love this? Totally. Utterly. Completely. The fangirl and professional. One feeds the other. AND the Torchwood trailer is also online.

I met my Doctor once. He was wearing a scarf that made him appear to be in character. Albeit 20 years later. It was cool. So however frustrating it is being separated from the Whoverse (still!), from having any professional input on that side of the world, from being anything other than a fangirl, it propells me further and faster into productivity. Because if I don't keep writing or working towards my goal, I will just die. So there's no choice in that.

I'm experiencing huge pride in the short films that are actually getting distribution at various internationals film festivals that I've contributed to. Sending off scripts in the next two weeks. Waiting for SAG to sort it out. Then it's off we go, which will take the edge off the harsh truth, that this beautiful young woman is not me...

Congratulations Karen Gillen! And here some words from James Moran in support of her for people that have an issue with how young she is. They obviously missed the concept of 'acting', so I'm quoting him here.

"A Soothsayer from my Pompeii episode has been cast as the new Doctor Who companion. She's called Karen Gillan, and I imagine her email inbox has just broken into millions of tiny pieces. Very pleased to see more details gradually coming out about the new series, I'm sure she'll be great.

However. I was very surprised and displeased to get lots of messages complaining that she's "too young", and that this is a bad thing for the show. To those people, I have this to say: She's an actress. HER AGE IN NO WAY AFFECTS THE QUALITY OF THE SHOW. It didn't turn into a comedy sketch show when Catherine Tate was hired. It didn't turn into a motel-based soap when Freema Agyeman was hired (her first job was on Crossroads). It didn't turn into a teen pop song show when Billie was hired. Seasons 1 and 2 didn't have Rose singing a song at the end of every episode, about how cute Timelord boys are. Season 3 didn't have the Doctor and Martha opening a motel. Season 4 didn't have Catherine Tate dressing up as sweary pensioners or donning lots of prosthetics. Karen Gillan is 21. Not 12. She's an adult. But it doesn't matter how old or young she is, or what parts she played before, or how tall or short she is, or what colour her hair is, or what her opinions on cheese are, or anything else. She's an actress, and a very good one. That's all you should be worried about."

Bring on the good times. I love Who. I have Who Pride. I'm out. And I'm in San Francisco this weekend so it's quite appropriate - especially for watching the Trek movie (again) and trying to calculate the number of movies where something has crashed into, through or next to the Golden Gate Bridge. Until this weekend, my main association with San Francisco was Star Trek IV. It's now my wonderful friends, an excellent film crew and an atrocious curry. The way it should be. So maybe I can live without Daleks a little while longer.

*sigh*

Language Barrier

Without searching the web, I can be fairly certain there is substantial material as regards translating UK English to US English and vice versa. But I'm going to do my own, I think. Because otherwise my head will explode.

I will start here.

An American friend asked me what a 'biccie' was as a British someone had emailed her with the term. Here is my explanation.

"Biccie": (pron. Bicky) Origin: British English, abbreviation of BISCUIT. (Informal).

Nearest US translation: COOKIE. Though a biscuit can be plain (though always fairly sweet) and a distinction is always drawn between a chocolate chip biscuit and other varieties, including ginger snaps, jammie dodgers, rich tea and chocolate hobnobs.

Usage: Biscuits are commonly taken with a nice cup of tea (English Breakfast Tea), the combination of which is thought to have healing properties. The hot, black tea is typically taken with a dash of milk and sweetened to taste.

English Breakfast Tea is thought to be able to solve almost every problem known to humanity, though there is some dispute as to how it compares with coffee in a crisis. English Breakfast Tea contains more caffeine than coffee, but I'm personally of the opinion that while both are healing, coffee can turn you into a super hero within 20 minutes depending on strength, whereas tea is what you serve when the super hero didn't turn up and everything's fucked. They have distinct before and after uses.

Ergo, I hereby propose that coffee can be considered to have yang energy (dynamic, proactive, masculine) whereas Tea has Yin properties (a more passive but sensitive feminine energy).

My blood is currently 45% coffee. It needs to be 82.3% or more for me to become immortal. I'm trying.

I just read that Jammie Dodgers are made in Wales. Jammie Dodgers are Welsh. My whole world is different now.

Shyness is vulgar (apparently)

Actually. You know what? Bollocks to it. It's my blog and I'll write if I want to.

It is February 14th 2009. Well, actually it's February 15th 2009 and I haven't gone to bed yet. Not because of some extraordinary romantic encounter, but because I prefer to sit and scowl at my laptop than go to bed. Seriously. That for me is a good night in.

I've been in Los Angeles for two months now. It seems I escaped one bitch of a winter. Everything is going to plan, just as slowly as expected. I just had the unexpected delight of meeting up with a dude who wanted to drive to the inauguration. So we did that. Took two and a half weeks and I saw a lot of stuff. Obama waved at me, which was ever so sweet. I know it was me because the other million people surrounding me weren't looking him in eye like what I was. Yeah.

Everything here is completely and utterly unforgivably wrong. Upside down. Wrong side of the street, Baked Beans with pork in them, wrong words for things, criminal lack of sidewalks and public transport, far too big, far too bright, far too confusing, far too different, far too foreign. Just wrong.

So it's exactly what I expected really. I'm an alien. Good thing about being an alien is the other aliens and/or space travellers (SPELT WITH TWO 'L's GOD DAMN IT). LA, like London, is full of transition and other completely lost and confused people taking a chance on life. In that respect I fit in beautifully. I've honestly never met such friendly people in my life. Though in Spain it was hard to tell because I couldn't always understand what they were saying. They smiled a lot though.

But I'm coming up against some interesting internal conflict. That of my parents' (and England's) cultural snobbery towards America. And then what I am seeing with my own eyes, hearing with my own ears. I'm trying not to fall in the trap of being a racist whilst also entertaining my running critique of people and places. But there is a deeply inbed intolerance into some things American.

So this is something I intend to keep an eye on. My father would leave the room rather than watch a US show. I and my closest friends and family are disgusted by the American use of the English language. Is that fair? Hardly matters because I can't see an end to it. Drives me crazy. I simply love my language and it is very hard to listen to it sounding apparently warped. No reflection on the people at all - just a thing that most British people suffer with.

Anyway, that's one part of what I'm doing here. So what am I doing here? Doing everything I ever wanted. Little by little.

One thing I have discovered, an absolute, and would like it entered into wikipedia. The month of February sucks beyond the telling of it no matter where you are or what you're doing. It is shit. There's no escaping it, and believe me, I've tried. Maybe that's why they made it the shortest one. And we're over half way through the bastard now so onwards and upwards.

I will be detailing one or two of my recent adventures, probably this week seeing as rain is forecast. But for now I really need to sleep. I've had Bruce Springsteen stuck in my head for hours and apparently there's no cure.