It feels like spring is in the air. Maybe it’s because the Oscars are over, or the fact that it hasn’t rained for a while but last week I pulled my dust-covered flip-flops out of my walk-in closet instead of my Ugg boots.

Then I saw the state of my winter feet, threw the flip-flops to one side and put my boots back on. Hobbit-feet are singularly unattractive in a woman. Hell, in a man too. Thankfully, mani-pedicures are fairly inexpensive out here and people get them regularly.

One of my friends gets her manicures done at the same salon as Nancy Reagan in Beverly Hills. I don’t go there but to a lovely lady on Los Feliz Boulevard. Really, if you’re looking for a cheap thrill, there’s nothing nicer than an hour in the pedi-chair, Black-berrying and sipping on a Jamba Juice.

But I digress. The spring weather came at the right time for a weekend visit to my old stomping ground Marina Del Rey. I was cat sitting for my friend Toby and decided to drag my boyfriend to the farmer’s market in Santa Monica on Sunday morning.

I used to cycle the beach path to the market (you can valet your bike for free) but this time because there were two of us (and only one bike) we took the car, and I was delighted when we drove past the market and saw that Klezmer Juice were providing the music (that’s them in the photo).

The place was packed with fresh-faced hipsters wandering around with paper plates piled high with food. I usually line up at the tamale stand (never ate them before I moved here but now I’m hooked) but this morning I made a bee-line for the French food stall which was offering a very tasty spinach quiche and salad for $6.

Sitting on the grass, watching the world go by was a delightful way to start the day. I miss the west side for the beach life, my daily bike rides and laid back atmosphere. The east side has a more creative, towny vibe to it and it’s also nearer to Hollywood and my friends, which is why I love it there. But if I could split myself in two, I’d live on both sides of town.

Food demolished, it was time to hit the road. We headed up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu, which is fairly disparate looking. Where do people hang out? I can’t make head nor tail of it. To me it’s just a busy highway with half-hidden beach houses, rotten parking and no atmosophere. Maybe I’d feel differently if I had Jennifer Aniston’s deep pockets and a beach-side mansion. But where’s the centre? It really is the strangest place.

We decided to hang a right and head up one of the canyon roads which lead us to Malibu Creek State Park. It’s been raining heavily for two months so now everywhere you look is green and verdant (as opposed to yellow and dusty). We stopped at a viewpoint overlooking the ocean and I swear we could have been looking down over a Welsh valley.

We also happened upon a very impressive Hindu temple near King C. Gillette’s ranch, which I later discovered was built in 1977 and is open every day of the year for prayer. King Gillette by the way is the razor-blade magnate and he bought great tracks of land in the Santa Monica mountains in the 1920’s, most of which is now a conservation area. His ranch alone is 588 acres and is home to many endangered species (insert bad joke here about beards and stubble).

It was a perfect spring afternoon: the air was warm, the squirrels were bouncy and we had John Williams on the iPod. It still amazes me how much there is to see in California. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. It really is the best a man (and woman) can get.

Before I moved to LA I had a very one-dimensional view of how people lived here, informed mostly by tabloid newspapers, red carpet events and pap shots of celebrities shopping on Rodeo Drive.

Living here as a ‘normal’ person, that is to say one who isn’t a celebrity or rolling in millions of dollars, is of course very different.

Take today for instance. My friend Anne, offered to host a brunch at her apartment in Hollywood and around 20 people arrived laden with food and drinks. One thing you can be sure of, regardless of the stick-thin creatures you see in magazines or at premieres, ‘normal’ people in LA love their food.

And because we’re all ‘normal’ people with ‘normal’ jobs, and it was Sunday morning, everyone lounged around in their jeans and t-shirts, wearing barely a scrap of make-up (that goes for the men too), just grateful to have some time off work.

I took it upon myself to represent my home country in the food stakes and provided a couple of packets of English back bacon which you can only get from Fresh & Easy, a supermarket chain owned by Tescos. I also bought some Heinz baked beans and a handful of PG Tips. Gold medal for Britain in the Food Olympics!

Others contributed cupcakes, muffins, champagne for Mimosas (that’s Bucks Fizz to you and me), sausages (or links as they are called here), bagels, fruit and cheese. Anne baked biscuits, which look and taste a lot like scones, and some scrambled eggs with chopped vegetables.

There was one emergency supermarket run for more champagne but aside from that minor crisis, it was very informal with people eating where they stood or sitting cross-legged on the floor.

People complain there is no centre to LA and it’s absolutely true. So when there is an opportunity to come together, everyone seems to appreciate how special it is. As a freelance writer, I’m just grateful to have an excuse to get dressed, leave the house and make use of my rusty social skills.

However, because this is LA there was a twist. Anne works in the sex industry. No, not in that way. She reviews sex toys and is about to launch the After Dark website for the LA Weekly, and so on the way out she invited us all to look inside her ‘box of goodies’ and take what we wanted.

And thus four hours later, I left Anne’s apartment carrying a delicious chocolate cupcake, some left-over Brie, a couple of onion bagels and a giant rabbit vibrator.

And that ladies and gentlemen, was my Hollywood brunch.

Taking advantage of the empty roads, my boyfriend and I decided last minute to drive to the Joshua Tree National Park, where I discovered a world so far from Hollywood, so strange, surreal and downright scary, that four days on, I’m still wondering whether or not it was all a dream.

We spent the night in the desert at the 29 Palms Inn, in a cute adobe that had an open wood fire and patio where we gazed up at the stars.

I rarely see any stars in the Los Angeles sky because it’s so brightly lit and polluted. However, 29 Palms is at altitude near the Joshua Tree (yes, that one from the U2 album cover) and it had been raining, so the air was crisp and clear. You could see every recognisable constellation and even a shooting star or two. It was breath-taking.

The next morning we set off towards the park and after driving through some suitably sci-fi scenery we popped out the other side and instead of doing the sensible thing and heading back to LA, we decided to visit the Salton Sea.

I had no idea this place existed and to say it left me feeling maudlin is an understatement.

The Salton Sea was touted as a glamorous holiday destination back in the 1920’s but by the Sixties had suffered from increased pollution and freak weather conditions which all but killed off any tourist industry or indeed any industry bar the odd farm or sewage plant.

Yes, there is a lake but there are no yachts, no glitzy beach community and most of the fish are dead thanks to the high levels of salinity in the water. This was the first time I’d seen a lake that didn’t have one boat on it. It was creepy.

Six years ago a documentary about the Salton Sea called Plagues & Pleasures did well on the festival circuit – watch the trailer, it will give you a very good idea of what I’m describing here.

We stopped at a post-apocalyptic beach-side community called Bombay Beach, which is essentially a run-down trailer park with half submerged trailers and boats stranded in what I think might have once been the Marina.

It was pretty eerie but clearly there are people here who call it home - many of the trailers were neatly kept with picket fences, welcoming hand-painted signs and flower boxes. One of the homes was built to resemble a windmill, with oars for sails.

The other thing I noticed about the area was a complete lack of malls, shops and the usual corporate chains. There was the odd liquor shop and taqueria but basically there’s nothing for miles and miles. Some might say that this is a good thing but malls are a sign of wealth, and this community clearly has very little. We saw children playing in mud, buildings peppered with broken windows, burnt out cars and dead dogs laying on the side of the road.

The one bright spot was the 50ft man-made ‘Salvation Mountain‘ - and even this place was an experience that made me wonder what kind of mushrooms had been in my omelette that morning.

Leonard Knight has spent almost 30 years realising his vision which you can see in the picture above: he found a spot of land and covered it in cement, hay and paint in order to spread the word of God. Seventy-nine-year-old Leonard now has the distinction of creating the one attraction that the Salton Sea can legitimately boast about it.

I climbed to the top of the patchwork painted hill, following his ‘yellow brick road’ and surveyed the area. Then I climbed down again and handed Leonard, who lives in a tent and swims in a nearby canal every morning, a $20 donation. In return he gave us a Salvation Mountain jigsaw and a handful of postcards. He also boasted about being on Google Earth, yet I can’t imagine he’s ever Googled anything in his life. He was very sweet and worried about us slipping in a puddle.

I wish I knew what to make of this crazy road trip. We saw poverty, dead fish, a painted mountain on a forgotten riverbank, a lake with no boats and utter desolation. It wasn’t even the kind of literary ‘On The Road’ desolation that makes you wish for a simpler life. It was the kind that makes you grateful for everything you have. The journey home took more than four hours – a big rig had tipped up on the 10 and the traffic was backed up for miles.

I suppose it would have been easier to stay at home and watch the Superbowl but without a doubt, finding salvation was a lot more eye-opening.

After arranging and re-arranging the evening a few times, we eventually found a date we could both do. Not an easy feat in this town I can tell you.

Sitting in a booth under a giant moose’s head, we downed a few beers at the Bigfoot Lodge in Los Feliz, which was playing a disturbing amount of Bon Jovi (interspersed with music by new bands I’d never heard of which made me feel old, thanks guys).

Jay D’s a film-maker and talking to him consolidated my thoughts that I should learn Final Cut Pro. I want to make another short film this year but I also want to edit it too.

It feels like there’s so much to do and so little time. I tweeted the other day that I need to clone half a dozen Lisa’s just to get through all my work. And by that I don’t mean paid work, just the creative projects I want to throw out into the world.

Speaking of Twitter. You can follow me here but for all those who grumble about it, I would suggest you go to an Eddie Izzard gig.

I saw his new show, ‘The Big Intimacy Tour: Stripped Too’, at the Nokia Theatre Live in downtown LA last Friday and although the venue is pretty soul-less, Eddie had two giant screens up in the auditiorium before the show featuring his live Twitter feed.

This meant you could tweet @eddieizzard and your message would appear on the screen for all to see. It was very amusing, especially as it was scrolling gently to a classical music soundtrack.

There were lots of Brits in the house: I saw a friend’s name appear, who I then texted and she texted back to say she’d also seen my name. (You see, it connects people too!) But the older couple seated behind me were somewhat baffled by the whole experience and kept saying everybody’s names out loud, including mine which made me chuckle (’And look there’s a Lisa Marks’). I imagine Twitter got a few more subscribers that night.

I loved the show. The man is a total genius. I saw him perform at Wembley Arena on his ‘Sexie Tour’ in 2003, a year before I did my first stand up. I love his fearlessness and the fact that he mentioned Swansea, chip shops and squirrels called Kevin.

Most people don’t realise how much work goes into a show like that (maybe there are six Eddies?) but stand ups are constantly honing their work. Russell Brand did a tiny gig at the UCB in Hollywood last Thursday – the venue holds about 100 people if that, but he was trying out new material.

I would have gone but I decided to hang out with Jay D instead. Sometimes you’ve got to stay in touch the old fashioned way.

His Eighties television show wasn’t really on my radar but I remember his movie Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and of course, his dramatic (though in hindsight, not that dramatic) fall from grace in 1991. The show which features, among others, a talking chair, singing flowers and a cast of crazy characters is as close as you’ll get to panto in the States and the audience, who were all of a certain age, emanated nothing but love for Paul Reubens, who plays the eccentric man-child.

After the show I was lucky enough to meet Lynne Stewart, who plays Miss Yvonne, ‘the most beautiful woman in puppet land’, and gave her a big hug. She was delighted to be back in her tutu and we stayed behind to watch Pee Wee talk about the show at a hilarious Q&A.

It seems that Pee Wee is most definitely back in business. There’s talk of taking the show to Broadway and another Pee Wee script that he’s had in development for a mere 30 years looks like it’s finally going into production.

Paul created The Pee Wee Herman show with a $5,000 loan from his dad after failing an audition to join the cast of Saturday Night Live. He also revealed that he’d written the screenplay for Pee Wee’s Big Adventure with the late Phil Hartman, using one of Syd Field’s screenwriting books. Heartening to know that sometimes those books actually work.

Later in the week he popped up on The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien, to explain the crazy situation between Conan, Jay Leno and NBC, using stuffed toys and robots. It was hilarious and once again, the audience went wild.

I saw a taping of The Tonight Show back in September and it felt as if all my worlds were colliding when Steve Carell, who I also met last week, appeared on Conan’s last show. He gave Coco his ‘exit interview’ and then shredded his key card, to more panto-style boos from the audience.

Steve, who stars in The ‘American’ Office was a joy to interview. He was doing publicity for Date Night with Tina Fey (who was in the next room – so close to genius!) and unlike many stars of his stature he had no entourage, so it was just me and him, in a room at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, for half an hour.

He was funny, thoughtful, intelligent and best of all he laughed at all my jokes. After we wrapped up I wandered up the corridor to say goodbye to his publicist who took one look at me and said, ‘Crush?’. To which I replied, ‘Massive.’ He was so adorable I almost forgot to be embarrassed when the valet drove my battered Taurus up to the front of the hotel, to the horror of the other guests who were waiting for their shiny Mercs and Ferraris. Hurumph.

You literally can’t move for A-listers in Hollywood at the moment as it’s awards season – we’ve had both the Globes and the SAG awards in the last week. As I was standing by the valet station a giant stretch SUV pulled up and Gabourey Sidibe, the eponymous star of Precious climbed out, looking every inch the movie star wearing a gorgeous green dress.

Ashamed of my lack of labels and bashed up car, I sped away as fast as I could thinking about how odd showbusiness is. Your star can rise and fall at any time. It’s all just one big adventure. Infinity.

There aren’t many people who could find similarities between the Na’vi and those who threw up regularly after a night out clubbing in Playa de las Americas, but all can say is that the infamous Veronicas strip was inhabited by many strange creatures.

Or maybe the movie reminded me of a simpler time in my life, when all I did was write terrible short stories on my electric typewriter, regal unsuspecting tourists with more stories in my capacity as island guide and then, um…make up even more ridiculous tales for the ex-pats during my bar-tending hours at Frosties, just for my own amusement.

But I tangentize. Is that a word? High-light of the week without a doubt was a whizz around the Warner Brothers lot on an electric buggy. (I’m a woman of a certain age - is it utterly sad or simply adorable that a cart ride on a studio lot is a mini dream come true?)

I’d driven over to Burbank (via a mercifully traffic free motorway – woo hoo!) for a screening of a movie I cannot blog, Facebook or Twitter about, as my life won’t be worth living but the cart, the cart!

I was picked up at gate number two and hopped onto the back holding tight, as frankly, there isn’t much on those vehicles to stop you from falling out.

We hummed past sound stages that created the likes of Rebel Without a Cause, Cool Hand Luke, The Maltese Falcon and at Stage 6, the most enduring movie ever made, Casablanca. According to a plaque on the wall, it seems that the same sound stage was also home to ER, The Bill Cosby Show and awww, Hart to Hart.

Like a Muppet with no control of my legs I soaked up the sights before being off-loaded outside Central Perk (geddit?), the WB coffee and merchandise shop. Actually it was Starbucks coffee, but I bought one for the hell of it, then had to find a way to smuggle it into the screening room in my handbag without spilling a drop (top tip – use lots of napkins to wedge the coffee into place).

Film over, I was then left to walk back to my car by which time most of the WB staff were on their lunch break and Central Perk and the food plaza next door was a hive of activity (mostly of the eating kind).

I’ve decided, to answer my question above, that it’s b) ’simply adorable’ that I was most enthused about my cart ride. I have dreamed about being part of the movie industry all my life (thanks Dad) and to be able to do those little things that you see on all those old news reels, is a thrill. A cart ride! On a studio lot! What’s not to love?

Life is maybe more complicated now and ok, we don’t live on Pandora (would you really want to? There wasn’t one bottle of red wine on that planet, anyone notice that?) but there are still ways to find the joy in the simple things in life. And that’s my new year’s message to you. (Nods head emphatically.)

More blog-tastic news next week – including my encounter with someone very famous that I can’t yet talk about. So come back soon. Surprises of Pandora-esque proportions await!

The Golden Globes may have Ricky Gervais and yes, a billion people will be watching the Oscars but the first annual ‘Marksies’ pays homage to those people who are over-looked by many but who, in the past 12 months, have entertained me with their creativity, humour and passion.

Hollywood is awash with talented people looking for their big break, and this is how a lot of them are doing it: at home, on a budget and from a hastily sound-proofed closet.

Here are the rules (such as they are): if it’s low or no budget, made me laugh or has my friends in it, then you’re in with a chance. Like thousands of others, this lot have thrown their creativity out into cyberspace with the hope of raising a cheeky smile or possibly landing a three-picture deal with a major studio. So let’s get down to business…

The first award for Irritatingly Catchy Song of the Year goes to Toby Turner’s ‘Needy Dog‘. Featuring Gypsy, a dog who clearly has many needs, this short ditty has had almost 130,000 hits on Toby’s YouTube channel, Tobuscus. Be warned, it will stick in your head for a long time. It’s quite annoying actually.

They Hit-the-Nail-on-the-Head Spoof Trailer Award goes to a couple of comedians called Mark and Andy who, like many others, saw the trailer for the movie, The Box and thought, ‘Huh?’. So they made this, The Button. Nearly 300,000 views on Funny or Die and most of them are me.

My nominations for the Podcast You Can’t Bike Without are split between Sowerby and Luff, who (disclaimer!) taught me how to do stand-up comedy in London. Their Big Bang is a regular treat, while here in America, This American Life, with Ira Glass, has been a regular on my shuffle. This weekly slice-of-life show is funded by the public (donate now!) and in the style of John Peel’s much missed BBC show, Home Truths, is simply the best programme on American radio.

Last year Sony decided to throw a ton of money at a web series called The Bannen Way. I visited the set and was charmed by everybody involved in the production, so they win for Best Lunch on the Set of a Web Series. The show officially launches this week and is glossier than a shampoo commercial.

The ‘Make It So’ Best Comedy Short (Featuring A Cat) award, goes to writer/comedian Danforth France and his cat Gloria for ‘Star Trek: The Game Night’. If ever a cat was born to be a star, it’s Gloria. She has instinctive comic timing, looks great on camera and can roll a dice on cue. Oh, and Danforth’s not bad either. In fact, he’s very funny. There, I’ve said it.

Tanya Bershadsky and Toby Turner’s series of comedy shorts ‘Russian Recommendation for Recession with Roman and Regina‘ win Most Blatant Plug for a Friend - although to be fair, they are often upstaged by Roman’s mono-brow, Regina’s cleavage and the dogs playing poker in the wall-hanging. (Tanya will probably kill me for that.)

The Meme That Keeps On Giving award goes to Keyboard Cat and my particular favourite, Play Her Off (Miss South Carolina). Just watch. I say that because frankly, it leaves me speechless every time. But if you don’t know who Keyboard Cat is, then a) where have you BEEN? and b) watch this link first.

And finally, the much coveted When Fast Food Replaces A Vampire award goes to ‘Twilight with Cheeseburgers’ from the Upright Citizens Brigade Midnight Show gang. Directed by ‘up and coming director’ Peter Atencio, it has been nominated by my 17-year-old god-daughter Tascha because all her friends love it – and frankly, that’s good enough for me. You see, easily swayed.

Those who have made off with a ‘Marksie’ get an imperceptible nod of the head and a winning smile the next time I see them. It’s prestige that money can’t buy.

Good luck to anyone trying to crack this crazy town – may your dreams come true in 2010!

So here’s my slightly shorter Christmas blog - a tasty morsel which heralds the way for ‘the Marksies’, my first super-indie, end-of-the-year entertainment awards ceremony next week. I’m still whittling down the short-list but essentially, if it’s low or no budget, made me laugh or has my friends in it, it’s guaranteed a mention.

But before that, hot on the heels of Hanukah and a bowl of most excellent kneidlach soup from Canters deli, courtesy of Eddie and Katrina (I told my mum on Skype the other day that I’ve lit more candles in the last two years than I have in the last 20), comes Christmas.

Aside from all the crazy Christmas lights (I now know why Americans have such huge garages, it’s to store all the July 4th/Halloween/Christmas paraphernalia AND their sporting equipment) that pepper the neighbourhood, you’re likely to encounter festive madness at any moment.

I went for a quiet dinner on Sunday night and the three cheeky carol singers you see above decked out in Dickensian costume - there were actually four singers but a Blackberry can only do so much! - appeared at our table asking for our Christmas requests. This surreal episode happened at Tom Bergin’s restaurant in Hollywood - it’s an Irish pub so I plumped for the shepherd’s pie and wasn’t disappointed with the food, or come to think of it, the entertainment.

The carols were fabulous. Yes, I’m Jewish but I can still appreciate a good Christmas tune. I asked for Silent Night which is one of my favourites (as is White Christmas) but Jingle Bell Rock worked well too - most jaunty. It’s odd to have people singing at your table - who do you look at? I darted my eyes from one singer to another so no-one felt left out but it probably looked like I was having some kind of epileptic fit.

So I’m off to San Diego on a flying visit over Christmas, via various parties and drinks things. I have to say though, that nice as the shepherd’s pie and carol singers were, I’m craving a mince pie from Marks and Spencer (no relation more’s the pity).

I thought about making my own after spying a jar of mincemeat in Gelsons but after attempting to bake my first ever tray of brownies the other week with limited success, I’ve shelved that idea. I think instead, I’ll be better off dreaming, not of a white Christmas but of the M&S foodhall.

Merry happy!

Panels. No, not the type you beat but the kind where you sit in an auditorium hoping against hope that the experts in front of you will dust you with their wisdom, are a popular way to lose a couple of hours in Hollywood.

As an aspiring screenwriter I’m happy to go where the knowledge is – my theory being that if you situate yourself near greatness, some of it will eventually rub off.

Over the past couple of years I’ve had the opportunity to bathe in the starry glow of William Goldman, Aaron Sorkin, Peter Jackson, Ron Moore, Steve Zaillian and many others whose shelves are groaning under the weight of awards.

My very first panel event a couple of years ago was at Writers Boot Camp in Santa Monica with the writer/director Nancy Meyers. I couldn’t believe I was in the same room as such a successful movie-maker and that she was actually answering our (mostly) daft questions. (Sample: ‘Do you use a pen to write?).

Since then, she’s had a special place in my heart so I jumped at the chance to hear her speak again after a screening of It’s Complicated, her new movie starring Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin.

In person, she’s petite but fiery and I like the way that although she often depicts idealised lifestyles in her movies (have you seen Meryl’s vegetable garden!), she always writes strong roles for women – and she’s great at what she does. If you’ve seen The Holiday, What Women Want, Something’s Gotta Give and even Private Benjamin, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

But this is the thing. At a screening or panel you have to act like you couldn’t care less. This is Hollywood, so no-one slobbers over the talent because we’re all too cool for school, which is why it’s unfortunate that when I’m in the presence of greatness, I have a hard time holding back.

But what do you say to someone you admire without coming across as a deranged numpty? Unless, the person in question knows you, or someone they know can personally introduce you, no matter how you approach it, you will always come across as a blithering fanboy (or in my case, girl – no, wait, woman).

I shouldn’t have said hello but I did. I mean it’s not that difficult to slink out of a side door and head home but no, I enjoyed the movie and I wanted to tell her as much.

So, I bounded up to her, butted into a conversation she was having with a couple of friends and blithered on about how much I loved the movie, some other guff about her writing great roles for women of a certain age, ending with ‘Keep doing what you’re doing, I’m so grateful!’

Ugh, Lisa, really?

Bless her, she smiled and politely said ‘Thank you very much’ but with a look in her eyes that also said, ‘Where’s my car?’

I don’t blame her, I must have come across like some kind of lunatic Tigger crossed with a forelock-tugging Jeeves.

My New Year’s promise is to act more cool but you know what, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. I like the way this stuff still excites me - and hey, aren’t New Year’s resolutions meant to be broken anyway?

The idea was to dig out an old short story or film idea that had been discarded because it was, well, rubbish. I have many of these in various folders on my hard drive so I dusted off a particular favourite, an idea for a short film called, Little Bag of Sugar.

The hope was that the idea, which was hitherto considered a turkey (kudos to the cheeky Thanksgiving theme), might in fact be a hidden gem.

Little Bag of Sugar is about a woman who dresses up a bag of sugar as a baby and pushes it around town in a pram. She’s nuts but you can’t fault her taste in baby clothes. You can read my story here. Regardless of its obvious faults, I like the quirkiness of the premise and obviously Debra Eckerling, the woman who runs Write On! Online, did too because I scooped top place. Small victory, big smile. My prize is a professional recording of one of my feature scripts courtesy of the people at iScript. Sweet.

This capped a particularly joyous week that saw my lovely friend Fran fly into town for business. We had dinner at (super-agent) Eddie’s house on her one free night, giving Fran her first real peek of life in LA that wasn’t centred around the Chateau Marmont and Hollywood sign. It’s not all glamour you know, sometimes it’s a cosy night in with a warming plate of stew and a glass of Pinot Noir.

Which brings me to another issue, the change of seasons: it’s bloody chilly and it’s been bucketing down, hence the rather gorgeous rainbow you see above, that materialised in front of my lofty Silverlake perch a couple of days ago.

My heating has been cranked up to 11 and my layer count is on a par with a WAG’s wedding cake. The crazy weather is somewhat of a novelty but the bonus for me was that it put a stop to all building work next door, and I was able to write at home in peace for the first time in weeks.

I also had my first Christmas dinner of the season - bring it on! The small differences between the UK and the States always come into play during the holidays. Thanksgiving is their turkey time and their Christmas is half what I’m used to because they don’t celebrate Boxing Day. Americans don’t know what a Christmas cracker is either (or sparklers on Bonfire night, because they don’t have Bonfire night), so sitting at a table wearing a paper hat and yelling groan-inducing jokes is a tradition that needed some explanation.

(By the way, if you’re stuck for Christmas present ideas, you can’t go wrong with Tim Randall’s new book, Rainbow Unzipped, about the much-loved children’s show. According to this review in the Independent, it’s 2009’s must read!)

We had roast beef, a rather marvellous Yorkshire pudding (you don’t get many of those to the dollar) and enough Prosecco to sink a small festive ship.

My contribution was a cheesecake that was shop-bought but that I’d artfully bashed, put on a fancy-schmancy plate and covered in raspberries to make it look home-made.

I don’t know why I bothered, as I confessed to my host Eileen that I’d bought it almost the second I walked into her kitchen. I’ve got to learn to lie better.

The cheesecake disappeared quickly, as did the bubbly and paper hats (why do they make them so slippery?).

Sated, this was one week that was definitely made sweeter for sugar.