To live and Die in LA

Looking back on some of my old posts, I realise now what great material working in NTL:Hell was. Every day you got a new anecdote to share with the group. If only I had been a stand-up comedian, my gags would have come thick and fast every night, no heckling for me!

Alas, though my new job is nice ('nice' in a frozen smile kind of way) and I don't get abuse every day, it is also damn boring. I miss the drama. There I said it. I miss the drama.

Today we took our little French visitor to Littlehampton Harbour. For anybody in the know, Littlehampton is affectionately nicknamed LA (as in Little 'Ampton), and is the closest thing in Great Britain we have to the real Los Angeles. Not.

It's a blur of fish'N'chips, Burberry check and amusement arcades, with a hefty dollop of gold creole earrings washed down with welks and sun-burned football hooligans. Like any British seaside resort, to be fair. And I love it.

Little Frenchie seemed to enjoy himself, but as a Parisian, he must cringe at the oafishness of the British. He just had a bemused look on his face the whole time.

I would still like to adopt him though. He's a very intelligent boy.