THE BETTE MIDLER PROJECT - making of a short film in LA/Vegas

THE DRIVE TO VEGAS - in a Ford Taurus

2008-03-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

Lisa and I set off on Thursday 28th February at 11.30ishj. She came to pick me up. I’d packed the night before which is really not like me at all. I’m a stuff it in one bag the same morning kind of gal. Even so we stood with our coffees outside my apartment in the hot sun. I’d forgotten loads of stuff. Trainers, jeans, red lipstick (you always need red lipstick – thanks Betty Jackson!) So, with all my stuff kind of hanging out of my bag like lettuce out of a taco we set off. Lisa had two of the most enormous suitcases of stuff. I had a holdall and my Beatles bag. I travel light. It’s genetic. My mum travels light. We look at the map. Vegas is off the map due North East of where we are. It’s a 4/5 hr drive. Buckle up Thelma (I’m definitely Susan Sarandon!). Tony, Lisas’s boyfriend has checked the tyres, gas, water, oil and all that shit. He even paid for new tyres. Now that’s LOVE. Lisa was a bit nervous. She’s never driven this far in the US before. However, it’s basically one road (155) after we get out of LA. After some initial ‘Holy Fuck!!’ we are truly on the open road.

After a couple of hours I’m thinking ‘shit this country is huge’. The road seems to go on and on and on. It’s Thelma and Louise but Lisa isn’t married to the guy from Grease 2 who stands in his Pizza and I’m not engaged to Michael Madsen – more’s the fucking pity! Him, Tom Sizemore and Jon Stewart are all perfect. There’s also no Marianne Faithful on the stereo. Lucy Jordan where are you? Lisa has a curious penchant for all things musical theatre. I’d forgotten this aspect of her personality. The bizarre thing is that even though I am a singer and I should be in musicals most of them leave me cold. I love the odd song but I don’t memorise huge sections of musicals or anything. I’m just not like that. Everyone always says I should be in “Funny Girl’ or Gypsy. Maybe one day but I have too much else I want to do first and I couldn’t do it if I was in a show doing the same thing for 6 months.. I’d die of boredom.. ain’t that right Bette!

We’re in Lisa’s ford Taurus not a Cadillac. It’s hot, dusty and the aircon is bust. |Great. But we laugh our arses off. I’m really just getting to know Lisa Marks and I really like what I know. We growl at each other but like two people with high standards and mutual respect. I can be pretty intolerant but like Dorothy Parker – he who rides with me has to accept that that is who I am. It is not my entirety but certainly a big part. I may appear a flibbety gibbet with blonde hair and big tits but I’ve written for newspapers, been involved in politics, read music, have impeccable taste in music, do improv and stand-up, speak 3 languages pretty well and can read minds. Ok I lied about the last one. I’m no slouch but I don’t wear it like a badge. You have to get to know that side of me if you can be arsed.. anyone worth knowing can be arsed..

Our first stop after 2 and a half hours is B. There is an In and Out burger joint and not much else. Lisa literally jumps from the car and runs for the lav. We are both drinking our own body weight in water and the increasing altitude is making our ears pop. It’s freakin weird. En route I get a call from an unknown number and after a brief confusion it turns out that this is a lady who writes a column for a Vegas newspaper called ‘The Las Vegas Review’. Her name is Carol Crib and she has got my details from someone – it could be anyone from permits to insurance to Nevada Film Office! She asked about our film ‘BEACHED’. I came up with the title in January this year. It was one of my waking moments. I have the best ideas early in the morning. I also prefer sex early in the morning. There could be a blood flow connection? I answered all her questions and plugged me, Lisa and the movie idea pretty succinctly. I am well trained in answering journalists questions as when I toured in The Vagina Monologues there was no end of radio interviews, phone ints etc. I am definitely a pro when it comes to covering all bases. I used to be shit at it but my mum, who was a journalist, is excellent at pin pointing the interesting stuff and leaving the shit out.

Our next stop about one hour or so later was BAKER. Carol of The Las Vegas review had recommended we stop there to eat. She mentioned a place opposite The Mad Greek Café. However, being adventurous types we decided to stop at the actual Mad Greek. Everyone knows it. I’m not kidding it was like a Greek Taverna on the Edgeware Road. Blue and white tiles. ‘Greek’ writing. We went in to freshen up and decided to get the ‘world famous’ strawberry and banana smoothie. 20 minutes later we are sucking pure sugar through a straw. Yuk. We took pics of us by statues with tiny cocks. Lisa nearly reverses into a small dog on the way out of the car park – think he belonged to some Mad Greeks. We are on our way again.. leaving a trail of dust over Baker..

We arrived in Vegas at about 5. Honest to God, it is like driving onto another planet. The landscape around it is unbelievable. Mountain ranges of Nevada rise up like craters on the moon. It is dry, inspiring and fucking bizarre. We know we’re approaching casino land as we pass a casino and hotel with a roller coaster surrounding the hotel. The hotel is like a travel lodge. I’m just trying to imagine what it would be like to stay in the room where the roller coaster goes past. Morning everyone! As they go past with their arms in the air! Woooooooh! Our throats are dry, are eyes are dry and my skin feels like an iguanas. This is normal apparently. Great. Lisa has been to Vegas quite recently with her boyfriend who was on business there. So she just enjoys watching my face as it slowly drops at every turn and I exclaim ‘where the fuck are we?’ It’s adult Disney land. We get to the Mandalay Bay somehow. Along Frank Sinatra Drive, via Sammy Davis Avenue and take a left at Dean Martin close!! It is FABULOUS! We drive to the car park as Lisa doesn’t think we can just pull up and I’m like of course we can we’re staying at the frigging hotel. Lisa needs to make another run for the bathroom – I have decided that I am like a camel. I can hold it for months. What a talent to have. I do pelvic floor exercise too.. just in case any men are reading this.. ahem.

We check in and our bags are taken up to the room. We are on the 27th Floor. Room 227. Oh. My. God. The view is unbe-fuckin-lievable. There are two huge Queen size beds and a desk, lots of space and a huge bathroom. It is perfect for what we are doing. We are going to use the hotel room a lot for shooting and so it needed to be roomy and luxurious. I am a bit of a hotel snob having toured to some shit holes. We have planned to meet Steve ‘geezer’ Parker (Asient.com) later for a drink/supper. So we unpack, shower etc and I put jeans on and a black top (can be seen on facebook at Lillys). We meet Steve in the Casino downstairs by the House of Blues. You walk through a sea of machines, black jack, one armed bandits etc, cigar and fag smoke to get anywhere. It’s really strangely dated in a way but also very fun to be around.. Steve takes us to Paris. It is a themed place – they have Venice, New York and Paris but no England.. although most Americans think Paris might as well be in England anyway. We have a stroll through the mock Parisian cafes and through the inevitable casino. We go to the bar at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It has views over the Belaggio Fountains. The Fountains come on at a certain time and music loud music comes out – ‘Can you feel the love tonight’. God, this place is made for me. It’s larger than life. That’s how most people describe me. I’ve always wondered what they meant. Now I know. Either that or they were saying I’m fat. I admit my weight does yo yo. I have 3 wardrobes thin, medium and Jesus Christ ‘Stop now!’ We have a drink and I have a moment with the chefs where I speak some French. I’m really proud of my French connection. I love the French. Mainly because I have travelled there/lived there and I love their culture. It suits me really well as does the Italian culture. We are going down in the lift and the doors don’t close because my boobs are in the way. The whole lift laughs. I turn to an older guy and say ‘And they’re real too’ . cue: laughter. Then he says that in Bette Midler’s show she makes a point of saying that all her dancers have real tits. I tell him ‘yeah, she checks ‘em herself!’ Let’s do the show right here! We walk back through the ‘Parisian’ streets and watch as a lady who is clearly a man in drag gets on a grand piano and starts singing ‘Atlaaaaaast, my love has come along’. Me, Steve and Lisa now all have our own running gag.. ‘Atlaaaaaaast’ (usually with some sexual innuendo!) We get back in the car and Steve is determined to get us out to an Irish Bar but we’re knackered and so after some wrangling we go back to the hotel. It’s a big day tomorrow – Friday 29th February. For I am going to see Ms Bette Midler at Caesar’s Palace. The Divine Miss M. I have been a fan of hers since 1988. This is the reason I’m here to make the film. That and my comparison with her.. Lisa does snore a bit and even though I’ve got my earplugs in I can still hear it but I’ve got the shittest earplugs known to man. But I soon drop off and apparently I am a 'morning gurgler'. Lisa was up and awake and that’s the prognosis. But if you’re up it doesn’t matter because then you’ve slept the whole night. Oy Vey!

WARNING: Politcal shit ahead!

2008-03-21T17:48:00.000-07:00

Pre Vegas:

Oscar parties are a must around Oscar time in LA. This one was very chilled out and at Lisa’s friend Phaedra (see my school gig). There dips, burritos and a couple of kids. One cute toddler who made a bee-line for me – his name was FENDER. Only in America. I actually love that name and might consider it for future offspring. Jon Stewart was hilarious. I love his wit and sharpness. He is my ideal man. This was in sharp contrast to the ‘heads in the sand’ saccharine gloop of the actual Oscars. Don’t forget that for the first time in living memory there was a possibility of no Oscars because of the writer’s strike. This was a historical moment. Albeit not momentous but certainly portentous. Like 9/11 something is shifting in the ‘free world’ and not just teutonic plates.

I have to warn you that if you are of sensitive ‘head in the sand’ disposition then look away now because it might get.. political. At one point during the ceremony one of the awards was announced by.. I can hardly bring myself to write it.. three soldiers serving in Basra. They were barely 20 years old. I don’t know if it was the white wine I’d had (2 glasses) but I went all Michael Moore. I’m amazed Jon Stewart didn’t make some sarky comment. What happened to our conscience? Vietnam is still only a few decades away.. it beggars belief how it could happen again. And for anyone reading this thinking I’m some heart on sleeve lefty liberal for the record I am a Thatcher fan so I don’t fall into some ‘convenient’ box. This always confuses the hell out of ‘intellectuals’. Ha! Phaedra said ‘not in front of the kids’. I learnt all my political awareness – from both sides – around my parents and friends. They were both journalists and writers so there was an endless stream of every kind of political debate going and you know what – I’m ok. I am patriotic and love my country – all parts of it. I am SO proud to be British (Welsh/Irish/Scots/English) but I WILL NOT ever agree with the invasion of a country we had no right to invade. That’s why we have international law. Otherwise scrap the whole thing and we’ll just invade anywhere we like. It wasn’t just oil. That’s too easy. It was to keep an eye on Iran. Also, please call it an invasion NOT a WAR. Let’s look at semantics for a second. I vociferously disagreed before we even went into Iraq (feel free to ask anyone). My mum, who is a Conservative went on the big anti-war march. And, yes this was a strike against Tony Blair. But he is also a kind of Conservative. Many left-wingers went on that march too – you know the sort we are comforted to see like Greenham Common women with rainbow coloured hair and ‘Capitalism is dead’ t-shirts. So this march was not purely party political. I will fight for the right of everyman to disagree with me – no matter how passionately – till the day I push the daisies up. Patriotism should never be at the expense of freedom of speech. This is pernicious and like a silent dictatorship…

I would think twice about living in LA. I love the sun, sea, vibe, people I’ve met and so on. However, I don’t think I could reconcile living in a place overrun by cars. In an age when we are looking very seriously at a disappearing planet how can we still release that kind of shit into the atmosphere? Our beautiful, forgiving atmosphere. One day it will tell us to piss off. Of that I have no doubt. This scares me to death. I love to walk. Walking sets you free. So, there is a problem there as I genuinely love it here but I have always restled with my conscience. I’m that kind of person. Complex.

PRODUCING A MOVIE AND THE TRIP..

2008-03-12T14:36:00.000-07:00

Ok. Here comes the science bit. Only kidding. This isn't Garnier, this is Abi Roberts and one of the biggest moments in her life. I have been so busy it has been nigh on impossible to even think of writing till now.. so forgive me dear reader for my tardiness.. (what the hell is this.. Little Women?!)

The run up to our departure to Vegas was the most nail biting, groin wrenching, gut snarling experiences since I stood in a church marrying the wrong man. Basically we spent the best part of a week - from February 19th to 25th or so working on pre-production. I have never produced a film before - apart from a home video with my mum and auntie. But this was serious. I had put time, energy and focus into this since God knows when. I needed to get it right for my sake but also for my co-pilot's sake. Lisa had been working away making phone calls,printing forms and setting things up before I arrived in LA. She will be forever my Iceman. Let me explain that to film in Vegas is like a military operation. Anyone would think the president himself were coming to town. We had to fill out forms for every location - The Strip, Fremont St and Old Fremont. We had to get insurance first of all. Luckily we had the nicest lady to speak to who had been recommended to us by a contact in Vegas (I tell you it's all about the contacts baby). Sharon Emmons was a delight and what she didn't know about insuring for filming you could put on a ladybird's back and he wouldn't feel a thing. We had to first clear the insurance by sending her money and then once that was clear we contacted the Nevada Film Office (again, charming man there who helped us no end and who loves Captain Pugwash.. how we laughed!) So, we had many a phone conversation - one in particular stands out. When I had to ring Sharon and ask her to explain most of the form to me. It must have taken 45 minutes or so for her to go through every possible ramification and meaning. Lisa was there - she nearly got hysterical as Sharon went into great detail about how 'if we were filming in a marble hallway and someone slipped over and they were wearing a rolex, then we would be able to claim for the rolex or something like that.. ' I have never laughed so much as I have done in the last 3 weeks. It has been like a constant tonic..

So insurance was the first port of call – we had about 6 forms to fill out that each comprised of 10 pages to fax back. No-one has fax anymore. That’s when we thank God or Apple as they are known (how ironic it was the apple in the good book that cast us out into the wilderness?) So we had to call people to ask them to explain what the fuck all the forms meant. This was all basically done between where I was staying in Santa Monica off Lincoln Bvd and where Lisa is which is down in the Marina. It is a half hour drive or so between us and I didn’t get a car for this trip. I think it was a case of if I come out for 3 months or more then it’s car time and I would have a couple of driving lessons on the road. I am a strange bird in that I don’t really like driving. I prefer to be driven places. I love that feeling of being chauffered. Ok. Diva alert.

We spoke to a lovely guy called Ed who was based at the Nevada Film Office. He told us his daughter had really liked Captain Pugwash. So we asked if he knew that some of the characters were rude. That is when I think the hilarity began for this whole project. We laughed with a total stranger about Master Bates. I love this country! So, producing I found out is sitting at a desk, phone calls, budgeting the film outlay, checking crew availability and how little they’ll do it for and being above all a people person. You cannot sound pissed off or abrupt when you are calling in favours on a small budget movie. Not that I am abrupt in my personality unless someone is rude to me I won’t generally react at all. Cross me though and it’s like a slap. Short, sharp, leaves a slight red mark but it all goes away pretty quick. The beauty of being someone who doesn’t let bad feeling hang around. I can’t be fucked. Life really is so short. Anyhow, grudges start to show on people’s faces. There are a few names I could put in here now but the thing is you know who you are and it’s written on your face.

The writing of the film was actually pretty painless. The concept was there (Bette Midler and me) but how to join them up and have a ‘point’. This is where Lisa was invaluable and actually I have had this relationship with other writers including songwriting where it is imperative to have someone who is gifted and disciplined with structure. I am not that person. I am the improvisor, ideas person who will come up with great gags, some visual stuff and basically turn it on for the camera. I can also write an ok monologue but it was vital that we had the STRUCTURE. Lisa’s middle name is structure. Does it fit together? What do we need to say? So, after a day or two of insurance and permits we turned our attention to the script. There are a few instances when serendipity or fate takes a hand in this story. One night after a few days of being in the flat I really needed to read a magazine and so I rootled around for some easy reading material and looked by the sofa in the living room. I reached in half way down like a pack of cards and pulled out a magazine called Metro. It is a gay showbiz/music publication. I didn’t even look at the cover. I flicked through and there about three quarters of the way through was an article about Bette Midler and her Vegas show. It had an actual time-line of her life on a double page spread. This was a very helpful tool for our writing. Lisa suggested wisely that I take the Bette time-line and think of characters/situations that arose from that and that she would go away and think of ways to link all this with my story. She wanted it to be poignant too which is the sign of a great writer. Don’t just go for the obvious paths..
Quite early on I suggested that we have someone who literally linked the story and anchored it. I had done so much research on the internet that I said one day ‘how about Vanessa Google?’ Lisa laughed and that was that character born out of necessity and invention!

Crew wise we had already confirmed our DoP – Justin Bergonzoni – a 24 year old graduate who was so lovely on the phone and who Lisa got on with instantly. I could tell he was hungry too for the work and he had been recommended by someone Lisa knows in Vegas – Steve Parker who proved invaluable on our trip. He is from Romford originally and is a proper geezer. I mean that in the best way. He used to tour with the Rolling Stones. He once said to me: yeah, I never did drugs or smoked. I just drink and have sex’. Fair enough. Reminds me of all the boyfriends I had when I was 17 or 18. I have flirted with drugs, Only coke and mj. I don’t do any now. I don’t want my life to look like shit through blood shot eyes. Also it makes you do things you would never do. Drink is the same but I’m not a heavy drinker. I am one of those genetic freaks who doesn’t drink or smoke for weeks and then I’ll have one night of pure indulgence. I hope I never have to rely on booze or anything to keep me going. That would be like being in hell.

Director of Photography – check.
Set PA – check
Permits – check
Insurance - check

We just didn’t have wardrobe or a sound guy. Don’t panic. Ok.. panic. That became the catchphrase of the shoot. We had a rough first draft after merging our two strands together. The working title had been ‘BEACHED’ as just before I came out I had a epiphany of sorts. I had to have a title that would be a catch all. Also it’s good because it’s Beaches without the D. See what I did there?

Next: the actual roadtrip, mad greek cafe, Sin City, Crew..

OLD NAVY - jeans, deodorant and insurance..

2008-02-26T22:20:00.000-08:00

Ok. I'm back. It's been a few days since I've checked in so excuse the sometimes wild tangents I take. I am so engrossed in this project, working title: BEACHED. I have been speaking to Lisa ever since my Edinburgh show about doing a project that tied in with my next solo show to be about Bette Midler. It is also no coincidence that 2008 marks the 20th anniversary of the release of the greatest chick flick BEACHES. So I nagged her and kept saying 'wouldn't it be great to make a short movie about me coming to America to find Bette Midler. This became even more exciting when we realised that Bette was going to be in Vegas this year starting her 2 year run on the stage vacated by Celine Dion or as I think of her affectionately, Horseface. Before we get on to jeans and deodorant I have to explain that in 2004, a writer called Jonathan Harvey who happens to be gay wrote me a one woman show called TAKING CHARLIE which was at the Assembly Rooms during the Edinburgh Fringe. It was written around my songs. He was interviewed by The Daily Telegraph and said 'Abi's like a young Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand..'. Well, Babs doesn't really do comedy as such so it kind of made sense as a load of other unrelated people had made the comparison before. This doesn't mean to say I don't want to be an original which I hope I am but as Gypsy points out 'you gotta have a gimmick'. 'And that's all I have to say about that' (Forrest Gump)

After a few days here Lisa took me to Old Navy. I've been to ones in NYC so I knew what to expect but I always smile to myself as I go round and pick things up knowing that they will fit and not fall apart the second you put them on. Also I am paying just over half less what I would be paying in pounds. This sound so naff and touristy but I defy any woman or gay man to not get excited by the thought that you can buy up an entire Benefit cosmetic counter in the knowledge that you are buying two for one. It's a small victory for the pound. I bought two pairs of jeans that are very fifties and suited to curves (thank fuck). I also bought enough vests to clothe the entire set of Queer as Folk. The one item that they don't seem to really replicate like us is erm.. deodorant. I know this sounds like a fixation but they really don't do roll-on deodorant. Like Dove or Sure. I swear I became obsessed by it. I did find a dry stick one by Adidas (what?) that is cotton fresh. It's amazing what we get used to smell wise. I love having a sniff of things in Waitrose. They don't really do that here at Ralphs! At the supermarket near me they have their Olay stuff locked in a glass cabinet. You have to press a buzzer for assistance. It's like Hanibal Lecter's security cell but for Olay. Ha.

I've now lost track of where in the name of Daniel Day Lewis I am with this ramble. It is now time to tell you about the run up to my first trip to Vegas, permits and close calls.. sheesh. NB. Don't ever leave a blog for a week. It's gets really confusing..

STAND-UP, LISA AND FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS

2008-02-26T19:59:00.000-08:00

Well, I came here to make a short film with my writer and director friend, Lisa Marks. Lisa and I met one balmy night in September outside a pub called The Grafton Arms near Warren Street tube. We were both there to do an open mic stand -up gig. I had done the Amused Moose 3 day course up in Edinburgh at the tail end of the Festival with the wonderful Logan Murray who taught me much I am still discovering now, 2 years later. I did a few gigs after the course was over and this was one of them. I was with Kathleen Hutchison that balmy night who is now in charge of new comedy at Paramount. Kathleen was keen to be my agent at the time and was to her credit learning about the circuit very fast. She told me she'd run one of my gags past Phill Jupitus and he'd really laughed. It was something to do with ping pong balls. America has made me all puritanical. Nooooooo! Anyhow, the exclusive agency contract wasn't for me and so sadly we parted company. I hear she's doing great. And no, I don't want a job it's just that if I told you the truth I'd be sued for libel. There's always a sting in the tail.

Lisa had started stand-up after a a bad relationship made her think 'it can't get any worse than this so I might as well try stand-up'. Lisa has been a professional writer and journalist for about 15 years and has had several film scripts optioned. She did the stand-up and was very good but her heart lay in writing movies and preferably funny ones. She can write funny. Alot of people who think they can write 'funny' can't. It's a gift. Lisa is also Jewish like a lot of great comedy writers before her. So the story goes that at the end of 2006 Lisa said 'I'm going to sell my flat in Crouch End (beautiful flat with garden), and buy a buy to let by the sea and I'm going to move to Los Angeles'. And do you know what? She bloody well did. Left us dreamers in London thinking 'oooh, wouldn't it be great to be in the sun, being creative'. Within 6 months or so she'd entered her short film script to various competitions and won a prize at Sony/Crackle Duke City Shoot Out ($50,000) to direct her own film. Everything was provided. Crew, production, actors (who she auditioned) and her locations in Albuquerque - the most frequenty mispelled place in America I would guess. Lisa got a job writing an LA blog for the Guardian and off she popped with a click of her Ruby slippers she ended up in a far away place, run by a silly old man who pretends he's a wizard and has an arch enemy, the Wicked Witch of the Middle East, Osama bin Laden who melts when you pour water on him but gasoline's ok apparently. That was a strange metaphor but a good one in the context. It's also copyrighted for anyone thinking of nicking it. America's made me all litigious and everything. I love it.

So we met and bonded over our general mistrust of all things comedic on the stand-up circuit. The next big thing always seemed to be talking about knitting jumpers and biscuits. Where were the real 'up yours with a song at the end' female comics who aren't afraid to look relatively attractive. Also we found out that character comedy and stand-up were lumped in the same bracket but straight stand-up is far harder in my humble opinion as you are not generally hiding behind a mask and giving views that are your own. Many female comics go for characters as women generally are not comfortable giving their viewpoint in a forceful way. The last person to do that was Margaret Thatcher. A woman surrounded by comedians for her entire career. That's why I admire comics like Kate Smurthwaite as she sticks to her guns and doesn't go for the weird and wonderful for the hell of it. You must be true to yourself no matter the hardships as if you try and be something to fit in to a 'trend' it will not last. Here endeth the first lesson. I have been writing script all day so it's nice to just let rip and spout.

I did my debut solo Edinburgh show in 2007 at Holyrood Too at Faith (lovely little venue on Cowgate run by the legendary Brian Damage and Krystal who were truly great to me and are a lesson to us all). My show was called ABI ROBERTS GETS HER HITS OUT - subtlety has always been one of my strong points. It was bloody hard work as it was part stand-up, part story- telling and a lot of singing. I did a section about training my voice at the Moscow Conservatoire where I put 'All that Jazz' from Chicago into Russian. I did the mock Fosse moves too round a chair. I nearly fainted with the exertion but audiences loved it and gave me 5 stars across the board. The critics were not as impressed. The Edinburgh Evening news said I was more like Bonnie Tyler than Bette Midler. He based his entire review on one joke that ironically I only put in the day he came. That's showbiz. I got an e-mail from the Edinburgh Fringe Office telling me I'd officially SOLD OUT. So fuck The Edinburgh Evening News. I do this for the audiences not the critics. Thus it has ever been..

After Edinburgh I filmed a music/sound effects panel show called Sounds Like a Laugh. Jarred Christmas was the host. He's like a human demolition ball. Great to watch, quite scary to be near. He is a very professional comic and has his eye on the main chance. My team captain was an exceptionally talented man called Rhys Darby about whom there are not enough superlatives. Like Christmas he hails from New Zealand and he has been doing stand-up since 2002. He is a master of the vocal sound effect. He was also very generous to work with and we kept inventing subplots for our games - not the usual thing on a panel show but I found it fucking hilarious. Hope the audience feels the same. The girl who produced it is now at the Beeb. Come on executives reading this do her a favour. Strange coincidence time: just after passport control the guy I met on the plane who does the sound for X-factor etc and I got into further conversation and he mentioned he was filming a DVD for a comedian from Flight of the Conchords. I said which one? He said.. Rhys something. So I knew it was Darby. It turns out he is here to launch his career and he is about to do a film with Jim Carey. I got his e-mail from the producer and e-mailed him that I was in LA till end of March. Short story long we're going to meet for a coffee when I'm back from Vegas and he's back from NZ (his wife and little boy are back there). Thoroughly good bloke.

Next: Jeans, deodorant and insurance.

THE TEMPLE BAR - my first gig, Washington's birthday

2008-02-19T14:01:00.000-08:00

Ok. Before I came out here I was booked to compere a school gig. I am told The Ocean Charter School is a school based on the Waldorf principles. I said 'like the salad?' Ok, moving on. It is a school that advises against any contact with the 'media' during the week ie TV, films etc. Given that we are in a town that makes its living in the world from all things media then it must be quite hard to uphold but I take my hat off to Phaedra - who is one of the founder/parents originally from South-End. She thinks it's good to leave telly till the weekend. Which is kind of how we were all bought up in the late 70's along with Bungle and Spaghetti Bolognese. So Sunday 17th Feb, the day of the gig arrives and I wake up thinking: 'What in the name of Christ have you done?' You do comedy for cynical adults who think it's ok to laugh at the fact that the world will be uninhabitable by the next millenium. How are you going to include imperonations of Bruce Forsyth when they don't know 'Nice to see ya, to see ya nice?' Ah, I miss Brucie. The last of the great all round entertainers. That is why I am persuing a dream to bring all that back - silly voices, making the audience feel welcome, singing a song at the end that might move.. yes.. move a few people and not be littered with cynical half baked ideas about love. The real mccoy is always better.

Back in 1988 I met a lawyer Ira who was a colleaue of Bob's. Ira is a wonderful, sage Jewish lawyer. He speaks in a way that only really cool people can. Slow and measured but with bite. When Bob died of the dreaded Aids my mum flew to Los Angeles to attend his funeral. Ira sat next to her. When the time came to take communion, Ira went up. He took his wafer and sipped the wine. When he got back to my mum he said 'did I do it right?' I like to think that this little vignette sums him up. I love that story. Anyhow, Ira has persuaded me to go have lunch with them and so he comes by the appartment I'm staying in on 10th and Cedar in Santa Monica. I potter around. The appartment has wood floors and a cute galley kitchen. It is open plan. The bathroom is small but the shower is so powerful it blows your mind. The mattress is the most uncomfortable I've ever slept on bar days in Cork when I was a student. The springs are dying to escape. My back is feeling it but no matter as I stretch it out on the resident Swiss Ball - thank God for the Swiss Ball eh? What the hell did we do without it?! The aerial to the TV is also like a 15 minute process but fortunately I don't have time to watch much TV. Wouldn't Phaedra be pleased.

Ira, his wife Laurie and Ethan pull up about midday. It is so nice to see them and Ira gives me a mixture between hug and squeeze. I lean in to kiss Laurie through the window and nearly smash my glasses as the window is shut. That was one clean window. Ethan is in the back. Ethan is now 7 foot something and dresses like a proper dude. The last time I saw him he was about 11 years old and I did my world famous Scooby Doo impression. He actually remembered it. I didn't repete it as we were in a public place. The deli they took me too is near 3rd St Promenade. I think it's called The Broadway. How appropriate. I chatted with Ira and Ethan while Laurie went to park the car. It was great. We sat in a booth and just chewed th fat. I had Eggs Benedict. It's offical I'm addicted. We talked about the elections and the war - so really light topics of conversation! But I HATE small talk. That's why on the whole I prefer male company with the exception of my few very sophisticated female friends who know who they are and my mum who should run for President any day now. The Republican candidate John McCain came up and I said 'the one who looks like he's smuggling two small children in his cheeks?' That made us laugh for atleast and a half minutes. Can I use it in the gig? No, probably not. Shit. Outside the Deli on the promenade Ira took photos of me next to giant Dinosaurs - amazingly I could name every breed. Is it because I now have two darling nephews, Harry and Zac who love Dinos? I miss them very much in their beautiful little town called Moffat in Scotland.

They drop me back and I basically pace about. I've never done a stand-up gig for a mixture of adults and children. I compared the Edinburgh Fringe Sunday last year but that is different as it is all cabaret acts and you can tailor the material. I had nothing to go on and they had given me 10 minutes intro time. Phaedra picked me up at 4.30 and we drove to The Temple Bar in Santa Monica. It is basically a hip music venue with dark lighting and the smell old musos in the air. My kinda place. The evening consisted of 4 acts - all children apart from the last band who were called Faculty Lounge. Before everyone started arriving the guitarist made a bee-line to talk to me and he confessed that Faculty Lounge were in fact breaking up. Due to..um.. artistic differences. I asked if it was a 'Yoko' situation. Luckily he laughed and said no but that two members of the band actually hated each other. Jesus, call the press. The gig starts around 5.45. After the string ensemble play the slowest classical music known to man for 20 minutes, I have to jump up (in jeans I have ripped by the crotch getting into Ira's enormous, high-off-the-ground Range Rover). I nearly rip them again as I pole vault up there and grab the mic. I have been warned that it has a loose connection. I say 'that's ok, the best people do'. The guy who usually does the gig is Chunky B who is a TV warm-up guy for Craig Ferguson. I introduce myself as Chunky A. Ha. I am off to a good start. I have to say that I have a disclaimer over my head as I will be using 'media references'. I mention my Beatles bag being sniffed at the airport and immediately the kids, who are all 'sitting' crossed legged in the front, shout out: Yea, we love the Beatles'. Thank God for the parents who still smoke weed. I get them to sing bits of 'All you need is Love'. I do the trumpet part. There is a tiny little toddler who is jiving. This is like some acid trip of a gig. I introduce the next act which is most self indulgent crap I have ever heard. It is a folk singer who is backed up - even though the mics aren't working - by a group of kids. It is music to slit your wrists too but worse. The problems come when someone thinks they're good. If this translates to an audience it takes away the nervous magic. Just a theory. Don't quote me.. till I'm famous. See what I did there?

So the gig goes without too much of a hitch until the end when the Cocks of Rock or Faculty Lounge swing on. I have to say now, I have never heard a band who aren't the Red Hot Chili Peppers sound just like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. If you're going to steal hooks or intros for God's sake do it like say Oasis who sound nothing like The Beatles (beat). I have to confess that when I introduce them a mixture of jet lag, vodka and devilishness makes me tell the crowd that sadly Faculty Lounge are breaking up due to artistic differences. This is mainly because the lead singer in a pork pie hat has just said to me in a patronising tone 'Just introduce us as Faculty Lounge'. See what you get for messing with the bull. You get the horns. Or something. Rock stars. WHAT A BUNCH OF SELF INDULGENT, WHINGING TWATS. Thank you and Good night..

Having been warned against swearing as it is in the vicinity of little kids, a lady from New York City grabs me across the Burritos and shouts in the loudest voice 'Hey come here, you funny fucking lady.. you fucking made me laugh.. Oh.My. God.' I thought it was Janice from Friends. I hurriedly grabbed my burrito and ran with Lisa to the door. We escaped and drove to her boyfriend Tony's house way up in Eagle Rock. It is meant to take 40 minutes or so. We get there in 20 minutes as the traffic is nil. It is also President's day - the celebration of Washington and Lincoln's birthdays. God Bless America. I salute you.

Next: Pre-production begins in earnest. Nice boy, Ernest.

LA LADY - I'm here and Mclovin' it

2008-02-16T12:52:00.000-08:00

Well, I am now mostly over the lag. It's weird because you don feel like you've had some strange illness that makes you forgetful and a bit slow. So it should really be called George Bush lag. I had a Thai meal with Lisa on the first night here (Tuesday 12th Feb) - it looked like a Happy Chef like a lot of places do along the sides of the freeway but it was delicious. Even though they insist on covering everything green with batter - just in case the 'green' police are lurking nearby.

I didn't really notice a lot that first night apart from the smell of a different continent. It's really subtle but you get that whiff of Cedars maybe and gasoline, washing powder and ambition all mixed into one freakin' heady cocktail. Only black comedians say fuck or mother fucker. That is until I showed up. There is a strange paradox there - you can carry a gun but heaven fobid you tell someone to 'fuck off'. Charlton Heston if you're reading this.. ' go f**k yourself'. I've even started to write in American. What I meant was 'please go AND f**k yourself'.

That was a weird tangent. Ok, back to LA. I was last here in 2002 when I came to a songwriter's conference near LAX. I owned a recording studio in Shoreditch till 2004. I wrote my own songs with while a friend of mine put them down on piano or programmed backing. We had such a ball and saw the best and worst of the music business. I have written a script which deals with that whole time from when I started writing songs, the recording studio, backing singers, old guitarists who I inevitably fell for, the late nights, drugs and of course the bull shit. My father was a session guitarist in the 60's and so I heard my fair share of stories from him. Anyway back to the songwriters conference. We joined an organisation called Taxi. We sent them songs and they are critiqued by a bunch of muso types. So the conference was in this big hotel in November. I was looking forward to constant sun. It never stopped raining. For four days. I wrote a song with Johnny Young, a guy I met at the conference - 'It never rains in Hollywood (except when I'm there)'. It is a really good song. I should know. I've written some shit in my time. Anyhow, picture the scene. It's a hotel packed with musos. The bar is always full. We have to0 smoke on the freeway (LA has been smoke free for years - apart from the smoking guns..). We gather round pianos and sing, we exchange musical anecdotes. They think I'm a broadway singer as I sing things like 'New York State of Mind'. This is not a Broadway tune as far as I know but they did do a musical of Billy Joel's songs called 'Moving Out'. Fucking hell. Is nothing sacred? My friend Johnny plays and sings 'Georgia'. Holy shit. If I close my eyes I see Ray Charles. Johnny is white but he is blind. There are blind jokes somewhere in there but I'll let you find them. It lasted four days. We showcased our original songs and I met the guy who wrote Eric Clapton's hit 'If I could change the world'. In my opinion one of his best recordings. You can keep 'tears in heaven'. I know it's about something tragic but that doesn't always translate into a good song. God that was deep. I seem to remember the last night being particularly outrageous as we all had too much JD and I ended up hanging out with two rednecks from Alabama. The world is a funny place but good music comes from the weirdest places.

The first time I came to LA was 1988 - the year Beaches came out, starring Bette Midler. I don't remember that much apart from the heat, the cars, meeting the son of an Irish family who looked the spitting image of Elvis Presley and meeting Bob Hayhurst for the first time. Bob was a friend of a lovely man called Ira - a lawyer in LA. My mum met Ira and Bob whilst doing business here in LA. Bob was the first proper gay man I'd ever met. He was a big, cuddly bear with red hair and red moustache. He lived in San Fransisco. He liked going to Bath Houses... a lot. He wasn't alone in that pursuit. The pursuit of sexual freedom that we have all been entitled to since time began. I'll come back to my dear Bob. One of my clear memories is of going to a really nice joint in Santa Barbara. There was a guitarist there doing his stuff. Me and my sister got up and did The Gambler (a Kenny Rodgers hit). We had learnt it with my Dad, who has a deep respect for Country music - as did Ray Charles. They could not believe that two teeenage, British girls a) knew that song b) could do the harmonies and c) sang it in an American accent that was pretty much perfect for country. We weren't your typical English boarding school educated girls. Not really into pie crust collars or hair bands. I tried that look once - Princess Diana I ain't.

So, it's February 2008. I am back here again where it all started. This will become apparent when I get more into why I'm here and what lead to it. I am renting an appartment in Santa Monica. It's on a leafy street off Lincoln - a main road running through Santa Monica. The next door house has a picket fence. It's like Desperate Housewives. Except, I'm not a housewife and I'm not desperate. The smell at night is very different to London. It is a mediterranean smell - Cedar? The weather has been changeable for the first week. We've had some really warm days. The nights are cold. It is the desert after all. I nearly wrote dessert. It is a common mistake but wouldn't mean the same thing at all.. I have the most powerful shower in Christendom. I have been to the local Albertsons - like Morrisons but so ridiculously huge and with such choice you just end up walking round with your mouth open. Not a good look especially if you happen to walk past someone who could be George Clooney's double. Actually it probably is George. See, first name terms already. By the end of my time here it'll be me and my homeboy G. So, I've got my groceries - well, peanut butter, Ryvita, granola, apples and a big bag of Cheetos (heart attack in a bag with a tiger on it). In a few words that are largely unplanned my impression of this place so far is: Cars, big cars, vans, trucks, cars, dentists on every street corner - what's with the dentists? This city wasn't built on Rock n' Roll, it was built on crowns and bridges. I s'pose this is the city where people get rich on their looks. You gotta stay in the game baby. I've just heard someone at the coffee counter say to the waitress 'Whatever it is, it'll pass. Just like everything'. I tell you, Californians have got it pegged. Next: my stand-up gig for kids and adults, lunch with Ira, Laurie and Ethan, President's day...

THE FLIGHT TO LOS ANGELES - the wind beneath my wings for 11 hours

2008-02-15T14:50:00.001-08:00

I am on a virtually empty flight to LA. I am in an aisle seat. I like to be able to get out without becoming intimate with a complete stranger and doing the whole 'oops is that your blanket/headphones/flight socks/mini toothpaste tango'. Like some Lindsay Lohan dating tactic. I am just getting settled when the guy who is seated by the window saunters up the aisle. He seems to have raided George Michael's wardrobe (black shirt, black trousers, black eye). I get up in an ungainly manner as my blanket, headphones, flight socks and mini toothpaste fall to the floor. But as he's not second husband material I don't really give a shit. I spy a row of empty seats at the front of the plane - we are a glass clink away from Upper Class. I ask if I can move seats. The very young stewardess says 'maybe wait till we close the doors'. I picture some poor sods running for the plane. It's now 3.10 - we take off in 5 mins. No chance. As the announcement 'doors to manuel' rings out. I leg it to the row of empty seats. There is a lady over the aisle nex to me who has had the same idea but I think she just wanted the option. We exchange a few words and she seems happy where she is. She bears an uncanny resemblance to Lesley Joseph who I appeared with in The Vagina Monologues last year in Windsor alongside Josie D'arby. They are both terrific ladies. We had such a blast. I toured that show around the UK in a Mercedes Sprinter doing one nighters from September - December 2006. Never again.

I digress (you'll see that phrase a lot). In good old earwigging tradition I overhear her conversation with the man sitting next to her. He is telling her that he has done sound for programmes like The X-Factor and The One and Only. The latter is a show hosted by Graham Norton where impersonators audition for a place in a Vegas show. I have seen clips of the Vegas show and I kid you not they are literally identical in talent to the originals. To put it into perspective the Frank Sinatra in the UK is basically a double glazing salesman who 'does' a passable Sinatra. Do they really think this will go over well in a place where many people still remember the ACTUAL Frank?! Do me a favour. Americans may be guilty of a lot of things but they know their entertainers.

Big shout out to the Virgin crew (flight number: VSO23). I do have to admit to having the stereo type cabin crew in my head - the orange face, clarins pink lipstick, sensible knee high skirt and court shoes. With that head cocked onto one side from too many late nights with the captain. Then there's the female stewards. But seriously what would the gay trolley dollies be like in a terrorist situation? They're fine with the 'tea, coffee, me' bit down the aisles but if someone were to pull a mango fork out and threaten people. Can you bitch slap a suicide bomber? Think on.. This crew were magnificent. It was like being on board with a bunch of graduates from a cool university like Warwick or Swansea (where I went). Really down to earth considering we're 35,000 feet in the air. I had a permanent headache on the flight so they shovelled paracetamol down my neck - I had to agree to read the instructions just in case of overdosing. I doze off now and then but try and stay awake and change all my watches to LA time. I start off by listening to the selection of music on board. I chose 'all time classics'. I went through everyone from Groove Armada to Elton John via Led Zep. The woman who looked like Lesley Joseph mouthed 'are you comfortable?' and I said 'Yeah, listening to Groove Armada'. She didn't have a clue who they were. Mind you she's lived in LA for 18 years so fair play.

We landed an hour early. ONE HOUR. Virgin trains are obviously run by different people. You'd be lucky get a smile let alone be early. The name Virgin is a bit of a misnoma. Shouldn't it be Slag Trains? They're like tired old hookers from Doncaster (no offence Doncaster, you were the first place I thought of). Nothing pure about them. The X-Factor sound guy asks me what I'm up to over here and we get chatting. He's got a band called The Darlings of the Day. We chat about music. I tell him I love Country and there is a bit of a hiatus in the flow of conversation. Like someone's built a small dam of sand. I'm proud to be a Country Head. I mean have you seen Big and Rich? Why do you think Nicole Kidman married Keith Urban? These guys play as if their life depended on it and judging from recent pics of Urban his life probably does. I find that sexy as hell.

Passport control has to get a mention. I get my passport checked by Phil Silvers. He asks me 'how are you today?' He then asks me 'what are you here for?' I have been warned not to give any smart arse replies - 'I'm here to do as much coke as is humanly possible and drink myself into a coma'. I keep it to 'here to visit a friend'. He says 'I'll tell you my blonde story in a minute'. Hang on, I thought there was no chit chat at Passport Control. Mind you when I went to NYC last year it was the same. Except I was the one giving it 'that' (hand talking in a cockney accent). He saw that I was a red head when I had my passport photo taken so he says ' you know they say that blondes have more fun but in Germany they did a test and apparently redheads have more fun.. I don't know how they tested that'. I really laughed. See, even the guy at Passport Control could've been a contender. There is also a lady with a sniffer dog who stops by my Beatles bag (vintage bag with the fab four on it). The dog sniffs and sniffs and then sits down by it. She asks 'do you have any bananas or apples in there?' I reply no. The dog has now cocked his little head to one side - maybe he wants to be an air steward. I say ' maybe he likes the Beatles'. Silence. She shrugs and walks away. WHAT?! I want to shout after her - 'I've got no bananas but I've managed to squeeze this gram of crack cocaine and a small Mexican family into my bag!!' Maybe the dog was only trained in fruit. I'm chuckling just thinking about it. A man in the cafe I'm writing in has just looked over. 'Hi'.

I get my bags and wait by the most ridiculously handsome man I've ever seen. He asks where I've come from. We get chatting. He tells me he's meeting his valentine off the plane. He is from Tunisia. Shit. My gaydar is on the blink. He wanted me. I know he did. Dammit. As I look closer I can see the obsessive pecs, tight jeans and chiselled chin.. it's a fair cop guv. When he says he 'loves Bette Midler' I know I have found a life long friend. I see The X-Factor sound guy who says hello and then I see my friend Lisa or someone who looks just like her. I run over in full view of everyone shouting 'Lisa!' As I approach her I realise it isn't her at all. So I pretend I'm actually going outside anyway. Lisa texts me to say she's on her way. She's in a white Ford Taurus. Nice reliable car. Sure enough a white Taurus pulls up. We hug and bundle my stuff into the boot. I've only got one small case and two bags. I've come to Los Angeles not Bora Bora.. next: I'm here in the City of Angels

ABI LEAVES FOR LOS ANGELES

2008-02-14T21:29:00.000-08:00

Don’t panic! Ok.. panic. My flight to Los Angeles is at 3.15. Left Chelsea at 12.10. Had just got my travel insurance and then the cab came. I went with that sort of panicky feeling you get when you are going away for a long time. Have I remembered everything? Pyjamas, slippers, soap.. hang on.. I’m going to Los Angeles not Bora Bora. The Americans invented pyjamas didn’t they? And slippers and soap, or soaps… Dynasty! You kill me Abi. I get to Heathrow in half an hour.

Heathrow is a wonderful place. It really is a place to people watch. More so than Gatwick where they’re mostly off to Tenerife for the weekend. LHR is big and full of everyone from Orthodox Jews to Arabs to Sheiks to Mongolians. A smorgasbord of modern Britain. Globalisation just outside Twickenham.

I have checked in already via the information super highway (t’internet mother!) but even so I have to check in proper and do my bag drop as there are problems with swiping the e-tickets. You see progress is 50 steps forward and 100 steps back. I am travelling premium economy which is basically business class. I got a return flight for 800 pounds (about 400 dollars). That is ridiculously cheap. I sat and had a coffee after the usual trip to Boots to get something you know they’ll have 50 of in America. But you think to yourself.. just in case they don’t have facial wipes.. What! They invented facial wipes and every wipe that’s ever existed. I get chatted up by a man in uniform (steady) who is walking past and catches smiling whilst drinking my bottled water. His opening gambit 'I hope that's water you're drinking!' I reply: Yes, the vodka is in my handbag. We laugh in that 'what the fuck' kind of way. He asks where I'm going. I see that he has a Metropolitan police badge on. I ask him if he is with the Met. He says he is a support officer. I swear my face literally dropped. I mean if you're going to chatted up by a cop, let it be one who could technically carry a gun (no pun intended.. too late). I tell him I'm off to LA to write a short film with a film maker friend. The film will be shot in Vegas and it is about me and Bette Midler with whom I've been compared. As the words slide out of my mouth I almost catch myself and say 'only kidding' but I'm actually not. I'm as serious as an American anchor man.. ok maybe not that serious. I say goodbye as the imposter copper drifts into a sea of Muslims..

I am sitting in the lounge next to a group of Americans going back to CA. I eavesdrop. It's part of my job as a comedian to listen to people's conversations. Either that or I should have been a priest. One lady who is dressed like something out of the film 'Working Girl' says she is disappointed by our Prawn Cocktail. She said 'it came and there was literally 2 shrimps and the rest was thousand island dressing'. The man she was talking to said 'where were you staying?' She replied 'the travel lodge on Shepperton High St'. I actually let out a snort of laughter from behind my sunglasses. Apparently we can't make Margheritas either. Actually she's right about that. We're not really a cocktail nation. They've got Tom Cruise for that. Ooh.. a Scientologist Cocktail. I'll have a think about what the ingredients would be other than gullible fuckwit tequila. Next chapter.. my flight to LAX..