We’re in LA. We’ve got The Lag. It’s 6am and Finn and I feel fresh as new-born daisies. Yesterday was not so much the case. I got off a plane from Amsterdam and on another one to LA, Henning euro-starred it from Paris, and we spent over an hour in US Customs, in the ‘non-residents’ line, eying up Robbie Williams who was in the exact same position in the ‘residents’ line, which moved at the same speed, so every time we’d take the turn at the end of the cattle-maze we’d come up against him, wide eyed and be-slippered, and someone else would be getting turned down for a picture ‘for their kids.’
Henning’s already done a nude run through the house, Coffee Tequila is £18.99 in Heathrow duty-free and Gelsons own brand tequila is still ten bucks. Tonight our friend Tu arrives to take all those charming pictures you so desperately want to see, and the jury is still out on whether Booker T is going to do the organ parts.
(Source: innernecessity, via everythingyoulovetohate)
