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Published: April 12th 2008
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Long Beach; Fat Goose
Olivia adopts a classic pose. I awoke to the excitable sound of Doug lyrically and loudly waxing on about the inches of additional snow that had fallen overnight. Under normal circumstances his excitement would probably been enough to persuade Phil to extend his trip to enable him to enjoy another few hours on the piste but Dave had an early evening flight to Dubai to catch and LAX was still a full half days drive away so after Phil had shovelled the beamer from beneath the previous night's drifts we said our goodbye's to Douglas and hit the road. It was 9am. Despite the solid sleep of the night before, the best I'd had since departing the UK and achieved undeterred by the hinderance of sharing a bed with Dave I still found myself drifting in and out of consciousness for the duration of our journey. We dropped Dave at the airport at 3.30pm and headed home.
By this stage of my trip any thoughts I had had about a possible re-location to the States had made an almost complete about turn. Doubts, fears and uncertainties that initially existed upon my arrival had now totally metamorphosised into nothing but positive's. For a person in my
situation I repeatedly told myself, the opportunity that Phil had afforded me was one that was too generous to turn down, the chance of a lifetime. No person without ties and possessing a modicum of common sense would surely turn down the opportunity to spend some time living out here as opposed to the hostile, chill and over priced existence that is new millenium England. The fear was still looming large that I may be out of my depth, a feeling brought on by a lifetime spent in the relative comfort zone of Local Government and my own personal insecurities but after Phil had assured me for the umpteenth time that if he thought that would be a problem then he wouldn't have put his neck on the line I finally began to believe him and at 1.15pm on Friday afternoon he picked me up to acquaint me with his workplace. I was nervous.
Fathfull and Gould's LA office takes up part of the ground floor of an office block twenty minutes drive from Phil's home. Spotless, neatly manicured lawns greet you as you park up and upon entry the obligatory security gaurd doff's his cap and welcomes you
with an enthusiasm that totally disguises the boredom from which he is inevitably suffering. The office area itself is split into a wide, central, plant lined passageway with open doored single desked offices to either side and exudes a quiet, hear a pin drop atmosphere. The occasional singing and loud vulgarities that fill the air of Cheshire County Council's Chester highways office could soon become a thing of the past. I spent an hour or so meeting some soon to be colleague's, the familiar faces of Lisa and Dan thankfully amongst them whilst at the same time concentrating on masking any ignorance I may have had about topics of discussion I was introduced to and it was an all round effort that forced me to pass on Phil's invitation to the gym when we arrived home. The couch seemed a far more attractive proposition.
Apart from a night spent at Dan and Lisa's, shortly to depart for the sunnier climes of the Caribbean when presents were exchanged and where I felt at times to be a bit of an outsider the remainder of the build up to Christmas was spent in front of the TV in the evening and
Long Beach; Fat Goose
Always a humorous moment. at various shopping malls in the day. And that was fine by me.
On the Sunday we took a break from the routine and, accompanied by the girls, drove over and beyond the huge hill jutting into the Pacific that is Palos Verdes, one of the world's most geologically unstable areas and one of California's wealthiest. Regular tectonic shifts averaging one third of an inch per day have rendered the area, frequented by runners, hikers, horseback riders, bird watchers, surfers and cyclists as a permanent highway maintenance site, patch upon patch of tarmac attempting to prevent the Portugese Bend as the road is known from slipping nonchalantly into the ocean. We stopped for a peek at Phil's former home, high up the hill before heading on to Redondo Beach where we lunched al fresco.
On Christmas Eve, after another day in the mall Phil and I met up with Lisa's brother Mikey to watch the football. Monday nights Stateside are the equivalent of our own Sky Super Sunday where the beer is on offer and where males from all walks of life escape for a few hours to seek out the sanctuary of a bar . Mikey, a
Long Beach; Fat Goose
Phil and Olivia set the pace on a ride down Long Beach. likeable lad in his early twenties was over from South Wales holidaying for Christmas and his enthusiasm to celebrate escaping the clutches of his sister and two doting nieces allied to mine and Phil's reluctance to stand in his way meant that by the end of the evening we were all three sheets to the wind. We spent most of the evening at the open windowed end of Shannon's Bayshore', a long dingy bar looking out onto Second Street and Jager Bombs were ordered with worrying regularity throughout the evening. Second Street was deserted apart from this tiny hub of nightlife, Christmas Eve obviously having no significance for Americans and I was thankful for having my Canon to hand as the following morning it unearthed scores of memories and faces that I'm sure would have otherwise remained lost forever.
Needless to say the morning was painful, a persistent throb of a headache not being helped by the tearing sound of unravelling sellotape accompanied by the the crunch of folding paper as Phil commenced wrapping his presents at 7.45am. I've always been of the belief that Christmas Day is a day that hangovers are not allowed, a day when you
Long Beach; Fat Goose
Mrs Santa at Redondo Beach. simply can't think about letting everything get the better of you, at least not until you have got a sufficient excuse and with that in mind by 8.45am we were sat in Lisa's living room exchanging presents.
After a scrambled egg and salmon breakfast those excuses started to appear from all angles, ably assisted by the champagne and Becks and the sunny deck out back seemed to be the logical place to spend Xmas afternoon. The end of a wonderful traditional dinner welcomed the arrival of Lisa's friend Jo, a slightly eccentric single mother with a passion for the world of Burlesque and her teenage son Stephen, a without knowing it hilarious parody of the all American boy. As if remembering Christmas's past I had bought the girls a board game, 'Imaginiff' and when dinner had settled sufficiently we spent spent the evening gathered around the dining room table for a couple of hours before rounding off proceedings with a spontanious spot of freestyle dancing, Stephen to the fore shredding his air guitar whilst lying back on his folded knees for all he was worth.
Boxing Day was time to go home and after taking a walk with
Long Beach; Fat Goose
Me, the girls and LA. Phil and lunching on the far side of Naples Island with the rest of the clan he and Olivia drove me to the airport and I left them both with thanks and the promise borrowed straight from the State Governor's lips 'I'll be back'.
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waymo
non-member comment
I think you'll fit in admirabaly