Burlesque, Cigars And A Near Death Experience.

I sometimes make notes on my phone to remind me to put something particular in the blog. After a fortifying cup of coffee, two Advil (my constant companions on this trip) and a little blue pill that stops you getting acid reflux for 24 hours (margaritas) I check my notes. The only note from the weekend is:

Stephen: “Put THAT in the blog beyatch!”

Curious. I'm going to have to retrace our steps.

It's saturday morning and Lips and Stephen return from the flower market with something that is the shape and size of a small tree. Lips heads off for a meeting with some clients from China and Stephen begins what I can only assume is topiary so that he can fit the small tree in a big vase.

'I thought we could take the dogs for a hike up Runyon Canyon when I'm finished here?'

'Sounds good,' I say.

He looks down at my converse.

'You're the same size as me right? An 8? You wanna borrow some trainers, proper ones?'

'These converse got me across the northern territories in Australia. I think they'll survive a walk up a canyon in Hollywood.'

'Alrighty then.'

We park somewhere in the Hollywood Hills and congratulate Anderson Cooper on not vomiting in the car. He gets terribly carsick and spends every journey with his face out of the window salivating and dribbling like a tap trying to keep his lunch down whilst Bradley Cooper looks on mournfully.

There are A LOT of people here doing the same hike, also with dogs, but in contrast to us most of them are wearing lycra and sprinting up what I now notice nervously is quite a steep incline.

It's really beautiful though, hard to believe you're in LA, so close to the city. I look up to a hazy peak somewhere in the distance high high up. There are people stood there looking down at us ants. Well there's no way I'll be going that far so I'm not too worried.

As good fortune would have it Anderson is so happy to be out of the car and in nature that all I have to do is hold on to the lead and let him pull me up the hilly paths. There's really very little energy expended on my part. Until about half way up an hour or so later when he looks at me with what can only be described as disappointment and starts trotting slowly by my side. The walk gets harder. People heading the other way stop frequently to admire the dogs and I take the opportunity to bend over with hands on knees and drag in a few much needed lungfuls of air.

We see a famous rapper stood chatting to his acolytes. A man that looks like a greek god cut out of marble jogs past us and my head does a 360 turn.

'Don't worry,' Stephen says. 'You'll see him again.'

Sure enough twenty minutes later he runs past us again. HOW?

'He's doing a circuit of the canyon.'

HOW?!

A bit further up we see the rapper again. At some point he must have run past us but I missed it through the curtain of sweat that is now my face.

I look down to the side and have a wave of vertigo. We're really high up and there are no railings.

The Adonis runs past us again and he's perilously close to the edge. I almost want to grab his legs but I don't have the energy to expend.

About a week later we reach the top. That tiny point in the distance I saw when we started. I can't believe I made it and am still alive.

My Rocky Moment

'Good job,' Stephen says.

I feel it warrants more but merely nod. It's all I've got left.

'It's a little tricky on the way down,' Stephen offers tentatively.

I don't see how down can be anything like as hard as up.

We begin the descent. I quickly realise that a combination of 'down' being basically a sheer drop and my now acute vertigo might make this a bit challenging.

Stephen gives me Bradley Cooper's lead because he's less boisterous than Anderson and I stand a small chance of not being dragged face first down a mountain.

I'm sliding on the grit and there's nothing to grab hold of.

'Is this what you were thinking when you offered me some proper trainers?'

Stephen nods. I think he's trying not to laugh at me.

I slide again and start screaming.

'It's fine! It's fine! I'll just inch down slowly on my arse.'

Stephen bursts out laughing and grabs my hand as I try to lower myself in to a sitting position.

'No you don't! You stand missy! You are not sitting in the dirt on your ass. Not on my watch.'

Fuckery fuckety fuck.

I should point out that throughout this debacle thin athletic people are sprinting down the hill past me.

I take it one step at a time. As does Bradley who gently moves forward an inch and then sits and waits for me to catch up.

We get home and I have the best shower of my life.

Lips is back and we're heading out for a light bite before meeting Christine the bartender who is going to take us to a club she's working at.

We have some delicious bits to eat at a place called Odyn And Penelope and Christine drives us to some lot in a back alley. We walk down a darkened alley until we reach a big 1950's fridge. The man outside greets Christine affectionately and opens the fridge door which turns out be the entrance to an achingly cool 1970's club called 'Good Times'. Inside is just as fabulous and it's heaving. The bartender knows Christine (they all know each other here) and refuses to take our money. We have a drink in the garden where there's a small caravan set up as a bar serving 'Boozy Cones' – slush puppies in a cone with tequila poured over them. We only stay for one and then head off again. Another dark alley with a seedy looking entrance and over the top a gaudy neon sign that says La Descarga. But there's a queue of at least sixty people. We don't have to queue because of Christine who I'm rapidly coming to love. A nice man asks me for my ID.

'I don't carry ID with me,' I say. 'I'm forty.'

He doesn't assure me that I look much younger. He just smiles.

'If you don't have ID you can't get served at the bar or start a tab.'

I nod to Lips.

'Can he be my responsible adult?'

'Sure,' he smiles. 'Be good.'

We go through a dodgy metal door and up some rickety stairs. The walls are yellowing and it has the feel of a crack den. When we get to the top we find ourselves in a tawdry living room. Low lamps cast an orange glow. There's worn sofa, an old wardrobe and a picture of Che on the wall. There's even a half drunk cup of something and some unopened mail.
A girl appears in a tight red dress and greets us.

'You been here before?'

I shake my head.

'Welcome. Please don't take any photographs and feel free to smoke. There's a great selection of cigars.'

She opens the wardrobe which is full of shirts and pulls them to one side. There's a drape of sorts which she pulls back. We walk through and find ourselves on a balcony looking down over a bar rammed full of people. There's a cuban jazz band in one corner and the place is already heaving.

'This is the best Narnia ever,' I say.

We head down the spiral staircase and go to the bar. Christine has already racked us up three mojito's, pint sized. She waves away Stephen's Amex. We'll not be paying tonight.

I walk around the corner to find the ladies and walk in to the cigar bar. I've been to Cuba and this is as authentic as anything I've seen there. There's ceiling fans turning slowly. Old leather chairs and low tables with ashtrays on them. A man is sat in the corner with his arm loosely draped over a girls shoulder. She's clinging to him like salvation and he's chewing a toothpick. He gives me a slow wink. People are selecting cigars from a glass cabinet and a few girls in cocktail dresses are moving their hips lazily to the music.

I have a cigarette and pinch myself.

I head back to find the boys waiting.

A man is making his way through the dense crowd playing a trumpet and he's incredible. Everyone is cheering and screaming, me included. He finishes and points up to the balcony. A girl in a sequinned bra and knickers begins dancing and the music starts up with the rest of the band playing too. Strangely there's nothing seedy about it. She's an incredible dancer and at one point is shaking her bum so fast you can no longer see it.

The mojito's come on tap and we dance and laugh for hours.

There's a moment where we're all dancing, the burlesque girl is spinning at the speed of light, the band seems to be everywhere around us and Christine has her head back laughing at the moon. The world is a perfect bubble of hedonism and everything is bathed in gold. Stephen catches my eye and roars:

'Put THAT in the blog beyatch!'