Tuesday, 11 June 2013


 Los Angeles  is steeped in sunshine before 8.30 in the morning, I  am watching The Kardashians, where one of the daughters, Kourtney, is discussing anal sex with her lover. He of course wants to do it, and she does not. How foolish of her. She is missing one of the greatest erotic adventures. Then she prances round the room with a strap on. How dull London looks when all we have to have to offer is Born in Chelsea?.  Kim Kardashian cries, tells us about her divorce and giving birth, and her fabulous bosoms. It is still only 9 in the morning. The Father is renting a house to get away from it all, the noise the nagging, to be able to leave the house in a total mess. There is something so understandable about his plight.  He wants freedom to play ping ball in the middle of the kitchen and eat takeaways. This would all be so declasse if it were not now the normal way to behave on daytime television.
I turn over and find two men in a bath, one complaining that they do not have enough sex.  My goodness I turn over again I get a lecture on fidelity and morality with a religious fanatic.
Fabulous lines like "On the crucial baby making day he could not make it work!"
Then I see a gay couple complaining, that a will has not been signed to leave one of them the house, and crying that he does not do the cleaning of the houses at week ends.  It is now only 9.30 in the morning.
I am receiving bank statements and dealing with the electrician of my new house off Melrose. Things are very practical round here. My hair is being dyed and my son, Charles Eliasch is having a sound a check for the opening song tonight at The New Media Film Festival where the trailer of my film The gun, the cake and the butterfly is in competition.  Francesca my house keeper cuts up fruit because otherwise we won't eat it. I dream of anal sex, actually any rough sort of sex would do with someone I love.

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