Here is a teeny taste of last week's fleeting LA visit.
I dined, drank or slept in three S's:
SOHO HOUSE: No photography allowed (might be arrested for elevator shot)
SUNSET TOWER: The brilliant JEFF KLEIN (Sean "Diddy" Combs showed up with an entourage to attend a Golden Globes party and was told his name wasn't on the list)
THE STANDARD: Any thing but (with the weird live girl in a glass case behind reception)
My eclectic and truly talented friend KELLY WEARSTLER'S erotic and marginally tortured bust in her studio, a little how I felt after she took me to a 6am boot camp (tortured, not erotic). Michael Kors's younger brother, on the phone below my balcony (not really, but I did have to photograph this scene, what is that man wearing?) Boxed drinking water.HOLLYWOOD AT HOME on La Cienega, brain baby of decorator PETER DUNHAM (we had a horse riding accent together when I was 9 years old) Teeshirt envy. Dawn, because my internal clock was messed up. VASQUEZ ROCKS, where I, my additional hair and a fashion crew spent the day working. Tea with Plain Jane, LOUISE ROE, you can see just how plain she is. Dinner with Ahmet and Shana (Ahmet got off lightly, his siblings are Moon Unit, Dweezil, and Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen) His dad, FRANK ZAPPA, once said Los Angeles rock journalists were "people who can't write, interviewing people who can't talk, for people who can't read".
How can you not love LA?
I love a room that has well considered finishing touches: freshly cut flowers, well plumped cushions,
a CRABTREE & EVELYN CANDLE.
Yes, poking through the port hole in a friends guest bathroom I came face to face with a warm puffing horse nose.
The 11 year old spent a lovely day, in the crisp fresh air of the English countryside, with his calm, nature loving friend. At the end of the day the calm, nature loving friend gave my 11 year old a pet toad. Yes, a real live croaking toad came home with us, to Grandmama's house. The 11 year old and the toad, firm friends.
The next morning I went to collect The Unspeakable One (he is 13, so you understand) from his friends house. The Unspeakable One had not spent the day playing out side, he had spent the day in a darkened, stinking pit of a bedroom, playing hour upon hour of X Box, grunting occasionally to his mates.
In the car driving back to Grandmama's I try to make conversation. I tell him about his brother's new best friend, the toad. He is faintly amused, only faintly because any further emotion would require brain cells engaging. Just as a preventative measure I asked him not to tease his brother, or for that matter the toad.
We arrive at my mother's. Felix, Unspeakable One, goes in ahead of me. Lunch is being served.
By the time I join my children, and mother, in the dinning room, the 11 year old is upset. Felix has called the toad "gay".
I remove Felix from the room. "Unacceptable behavior" I say.
When I return my mother looks up, deep in thought, and asks " I don't understand how Felix knew the toad was homosexual".
My mother, despite her 80 odd years, is far from old fashioned and although she mourns the loss of the word 'gay' meaning care free, she understands 'gay' in modern speech and literature references a homosexual person, however she has apparently not moved onto the word 'gay' now meaning lame-hopeless-looser. Poor Toad.
All my niece's are special. But this one happens to be my God daughter too.
Maddison May. Sweet sixteen and definitely been kissed.
With a drama scholarship in one hand, she was interested in a little modeling for the other. Only because her feet are firmly on the ground did I dare to take her to STORM, the agency who once represented me and famously discovered KATE MOSS. I know they will look after and cherish her, because if they don't I will, of course, hunt them down and kill them.
Even with out his signature "vibrating colors" and geometrics my father could make a statement.
Unmistakably David Hicks. And we sit on that leather stool to this day.
Shock and horror. Britain is in dire need of some spookiness, an injection of the demonic, and a pinch of evil. Britons are hauntingly timid when it comes to Halloween, and timid doesn't go very far on Halloween.
Past years spent in The Bahamas, with limited resources, have forced us to use our imaginations...even the dog dresses as a skelebones. We give Halloween a point of view, and a sense of purpose, rather than a little knock at the door politely asking to trick or treat before being told to "Bugger orrf".