Alex Baldwin is on the telly talking about parental alienation. Sybil the soothsayer is having a lie down. Maggie, my hostess, is in the kitchen and the last remnants of the gecko have been retrieved from behind the armchair. Sam the cat has just entered the room but mercifully his mouth is empty.
Sybil took me to Venice Beach. I have never, in all my life, seen a more seedy, ugly, unfortunate area. The palm trees line the walkway. The sand dunes lead down to the Pacific Ocean. All sounds good so far, but back on dry land we have:
- very bad musicians playing very bad music for a donation
- not very good artists doing not very good paintings for donations
- wasted men sitting cross-legged holding hand-painted cardboard signs with the legend ‘We will **** for marijuana’
- a jolly good juggler, so I did leave a donation
- okay jewellers making okay jewellery, for a donation
- tarot readers reading tarot for, you’ve guessed it…
There is a 26 mile bicycle track that runs parallel to the ocean, which I’m sure is a great ride, but the walkway is so depressing, whilst the food is reflected in several large human beings who have partaken of too much sea(side) food.