KISS MY BOOTS

I am listening to a friend of mine say "I am only happy in front of a mirror" in Los Angeles, I wonder what they see in their face? Truth or lies?
Is saying sorry to another person so hard to do? It seems that arrogance and ego come in to play in funny ways. Another ego maniac passes saying "grumpy grumpy grumpy"
Some people just do not like to be ignored or loved.
I look hard at my face in the same mirror and say to myself, I shall only have people around who make me feel good, who are good for me. I am not bending over backwards to give myself oral sex, but at the same time I am also not going to listen to somebody who is egocentric and who only thinks they are good.  There are many people in this town who are talented, MANY.  Many do not have jobs. They are survivors. Tell me what direction to go into because you get lost in other peoples intellectual property. I am then told "Just turn gay and get lost in this city, you will go far"

This city is essentially middle class, with a surburban feel to it. I am used to the chaos and smog of  the City of London. I am loving the sunshine and everybody saying "Good morning" as they pass.
This week was brilliant, I saw the Helmut Newton Show here and an incredible film on his life. I met him with Maurice and Josephine Saatchi in the South of France. He was a hero of mine.
The show was underneath the CAA offices. Of course I bumped into a young guy with loads of scripts "are they any good, I asked" he said "He had not read them yet"
Helmut's women are hidden behind smoky eyes and red lips, nude wearing stiletto shoes.  The women perfect in their female splendour.  Truth is not there, they are fake. Big and bold, sexy with handcuffs, and unshaven. These women rule the world as I enter the  Annenberg gallery. These women are not afraid. The drip sexuality.
I spent time with Nikki Lund who let me try on her entire couture collection which had been worn by stars, I felt so glamorous. Nikki looks darling with a guitar and a smile. She is truly my new best friend here under the bright blue sky.

Kiss my boots, fuck the planet, life is good.
Hey I am nominated for best female director in Burbank's International Film Festival and nothing could be better.

SOME BOOKS DON'T NEED TO BE RE READ

Whilst walking through the Marais for a little culture on a Nuit Blanche, a flash of pink caught my eye,and I stumbled on Kinder Aggagini's showroom There he was, and I was so happy to see him, the British flag laid out on a table displaying copies of Hello! and The Herald Tribune, featuring photographs of Trinny Woodall looking elegant. I love his clothes and asked if I could buy them all. He was teasing me, saying that I owed the great seats at his London show to him and not his PRs. Still, he was busy and I had to dash to check out video art from Tel Aviv. It was a mixed bag, although I loved seeing one by Eyal Magnus, where a man was undressing himself over and over again. My friend, the very talented writer Tilla Rudell was doing the public relations for them, and it was a relief to talk to her about art instead of dresses; sometimes it is all too much. I needed dinner badly so met up with Jean Louis Sebagh at Brasserie Lipp. He was in a sparkly suit, suitable for Liberace, and we were in good company: next to Grace Codrington, and opposite my friends Josephine Hart and Maurice Saatchi who were on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I thought I might be a little tearful as Jean Louis had been a big love, and here he was introducing me to his new girlfriend. But I was okay. If love is like a book, then some don't need re-reading.