Los Angeles Christmas

Just come back from Los Angeles tonight. This was our mammoth (in turns of money) family Christmas trip to see Alice, Neil and Sofia. Alice is my stepdaughter who is now 25, is with Neil and has Sofia who is 3. I've been very lucky to have had Alice as a stepdaughter since she was 11, especially bearing in mind how fucked up and deranged some of her friends have been/are. Teenage girls on the whole - not a good thing. These older guys who fantasise about screwing young girls; are they mad? You might get a shag but then your head would be totally done in. Everytime they lost a T shirt, couldn't get into the bathroom or whatever it would be as if the world ended. And you'd have to express some sort of concern.

Alice, whom I pleased to say I never had a sexual relationship with, never gave me a hard time about anything. Sure, she was regularly transfixed with grief (for instance at the age of 12 she would cry because she wouldn't see how she could afford a mortgage later in life. Ha! Join the club, girlie. Then it would be the more usual things: Boys, careers, friends, skin care regimes) but she would mostly keep it to herself.

Anyway, she is still a worrier. Concerned about the past, worried about the present and scared of the future. Just like her mum, Alice is not one of these people who would say, "Oh, what the hell, let's put it behind us". Or, "Que sera, sera". Sofia is a sweet if er, assertive little girl and Alice is too worried to discipline her or tell her off particularly. As a notional grandparent, I worry about this. If normal teenage girls are bonkers I hate to think what one who is never told off will be like. Still, I was told off constantly and I'm not sure it made me a fantastic person or anything.

Los Angeles. But what is the point of it? I love films and the fact that most emanate from here is great but... L.A is a boring car infested dump. A million roads in search of a suburb, or something like that. Weather is quite clement for December in that it didn't rain all the time or was freezing all the time; having said that I went to bed fully dressed with 3 pairs of socks and was still cold. L.A apartments seem to mostly have these mad little gas heaters built into the walls which pump out choking carbon monoxide as soon as they are lit. So you worry alternately about being gassed or the place burning down. Easier to freeze.

Mostly everything seems selfish. The cars everywhere with one person in them. The grim quest for tips if you are anyone handling money or providing a service. I had this horrible fantasy about being taken to casualty over there and in addition to having hand over all my credit cards, doling out a never ending stream of $1s and $5s to porters, nurses and administrators. And then the taxes! I picked up a couple of parking tickets, one for being in a resident only zone (shame the sign was half a mile away) the other for being in a cleaning zone for the wrong 2 hours that week (the traffic wardens spend more time in the streets at this time than the street cleaning wagons which race through at a steady 30mph). Anyway, these tickets - pay online and the buggers clobber you for tax as well. Buy anything in a shop, the price is never inclusive of tax; they hit you for that on the till. However, the thing that really got my goat was their bloody mobile phones.

We had a pay-as-you-go mobile over there which costs 20c a minute. OK you might say. But wait: You pay that for every minute someone calls you as well. And best of all, you pay that if someone even only rings you and you don't answer. Victor Meldrew, eat your heart out.

When we flew home I upgraded us all to premium economy for any extra £800. It's true, money can buy you love - or that's how it feels when you aren't with everyone else. One feels more secure, safer. The stewards are kinder, friendlier more jokey. There is a great sense of being able to relax. Fuck knows what it is like flying Upper Class. Maybe you get blown whilst having your scalp massaged by a Tai Chi master. Meantime you are fed foie gras and Krug is syphoned into your mouth by an ingenious pump.

You see I'm quite a nervous flyer. As much as I believe in past lives, I am sure I have previously died in a plane crash. I would not be surprised if I died in this life in a plane crash. I know what that particular terror would be like as the Jumbo plunged down in a flat spin, passengers screaming, moaning, praying. Before we went home I had this dream about flying where I was the only passenger in this luggage storage compartment which had no windows, but did have a big saggy sofa with loads of cushions. The carpet and everything was threadbare but it was very comfortable and luxurious in a way and I felt very relaxed as the plane bucked and dropped through various turbulences. Perhaps, what makes me feel anxious is the thought of dying anonymously in steerage; the cattle truck in the sky. A fatal plane crash in a nice seat is somehow preferable - that's the Leo in me, I guess. Whatever, everyone had a nice flight and enjoyed the experience. All I have to do is make more money for other similar insulating experiences. (My currency speculations eventually made me £2000 profit. Shame I lost loads more pissing about on the stock market like a complete dumb twat. Financial Stocks and the Credit crunch don't really go unless you do know what you are doing. Maybe it will all come good in the end. Pray for Vodaphone because that's where the not so smart money is now.)