The Cordrey & Marshall Podcast

Providers of musings and whimsy since 2010

# Hollywood, la-la, la-la, la-la Hollywood

 

What the hell am I doing drinking in LA at 26? (Or 32, for that matter.) So sang where-are-they-now pop-dance funsters Bran Van 3000 back in the late Nineties. We’ve not heard much from them since so I assume they’re still working it out, but with my two nights in the city, I decided to do a little investigating myself. Sure, there was a bit of drinking, primarily in the abundance of Irish bars near Hollywood Boulevard and doing the tourist classic of photoing the names inlaid in the glitzy paving (despite being none the wiser as to who 25% of them were) and getting a shot of the Hollywood sign. What was decidedly less touristy (or certainly more unique) was seeing said sign provide the backdrop for the final journey of the space shuttle Endeavour on its way to a museum. And being carried by a plane. Actually CARRIED by a plane. Getting a guitar case on a plane can be pricey enough, so I can only imagine the baggage fees for a thousand-tonne rocket will be (**rubbish pun alert**) “astronomical”. Ithangyoh, I’m here all week…

Except I’m not, and before long we were on the road in a stupidly big, stupidly clever car that didn’t need a key, a clutch, a handbrake, nor, it seems, hands with which to shut the boot (sorry, trunk). It has voice-activated everything, moves your chair when you’re done driving and presumably drinks your beverage for you if you’re struggling to finish it. And from the front, it looks like an angry Robocop. But still, it’s comfy and seats five, so it ticks the necessary boxes.

And onwards in comfort we went to San Diego, Mr Burgundy’s classy hometown and also pretty ruddy hot, given its proximity to the Mexican border. And so it was that we ate some mighty fine burritos before setting off for the trendy Gaslamp district, devoured the poshest surf and turf I’ve ever consumed (lobster and fillet steak? Don’t mind if I do) and returned to our apartment for some gratifyingly cold beers, a spot of cards and ringside seats to a somewhat damp neighbourly dispute (it ended safely, in case you’re wondering), much to the benign amusement of the resident cat Fatso. Ample preparation for a shift in direction northbound up the West Coast. To be continued…


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