Either I’ve been transported back in time 40 years or so, or some advertisers and their clients still think it’s okay to assume that women do not have control over their own finances. I feel a little sick over this.

(Apologies for the bad photo. It was taken with my phone with hot sun behind creating a bit of glare against the glass window).

You don’t speak any English? Like, what the fuck?

So you’re from Haiti. That’s got all that voodoo shit, yeah? Well that kinda explains that, umm, thing, uh, on your , err, face, there.

You have sister? Is she cute? Is she here?

Okay you can come up, but only for an hour, okay? I’m not paying for no twin share.

Whoa, what was that? Was that you? No, wait. That was me.

Shit. It’s not working. Oh, hang on. It’s inside out.

I’m done. Your turn.

No, I’m too sleepy.

I gave you twenty bucks for a taxi. I don’t have more just for you.

Who took my fucking passport?

Today Paul got on a bus in Santa Monica and headed towards Hollywood.

Unfortunately, he got off at the wrong stop and felt rather lost and bored and tired.

Fortunately, he found a shopping centre that had a bathroom and a place to sit and relax.

Unfortunately, the centre also had an Apple store, and temptation overcame him.

Fortunately, he remembered that a trip to Montreal would be sacrificed if he went all consumer-bang-bang here in LA, and he did NOT buy an iPad.

Unfortunately, he saw an iPod Nano, and thought of his daughter. And consumer-bang-bang turned into faux-parent-moral-consumer-bang-bang.

Okay, so I’m like so in LA right now, and soaking up it’s awesomeness. I got photos on Facebook. There was one sight I could not bear to photograph, Muscle beach. Picture this: (a) open air gym; (b) only one guy in the gym; (c) said guy has more muscle in his ear than I have in my entire body; (d) said guy wearing less clothing on his body than I’m wearing on my head; (e) said clothing used to carry his iPod.

If ever I could accused of approximating a mid-life crisis, I can now say that crisis is successfully averted. I’ve seen LA and I embrace my lack of coolness.

So yesterday morning my very good friend Vick picks me up from Mumbai airport and we head downtown. We take the train, which, like in many other places I’ve been – Tokyo, London, Melbourne on Grand Final day – is as much a game of rugby as it is a daily commute. The entire compartment stares at me with bemusement: such a tall white fat bastard … a sure winner in this game of push-me-pull-you-trainy-survivey.

An old man, whose glare I couldn’t take anymore and attempt to break with a smile and polite greeting, asks me if I’m from the UK. This is what ensues…

Old man: Are you from the UK?

Me: No, I’m from Australia.

Old man: Ah, so do you like our pretty country?

Me: Ah, yes Australia is pineapple country. And banana country.

Vick: (cheerful grin) Dude, he said do you like our country.

Me: Ah so sorry. Yes I love it. It’s the most beautiful place.

Old man: What part of Australia are you from.

Me: Oh yes, everyone I’ve met has been so lovely.

Vick: (chuckling) Hang on, he asked you what part of Australia are you from.

Me: Oh I’m so sorry. I thought you asked if I have found people here compatible, like simpatico. I am having so much trouble. Sorry. I’m from Melbourne.

Vick: (snorting) Open up man.

Another passenger: (with an accusatory glare) Well many of us are in a lot of danger in Melbourne.

Me: Well I know for sure it ain’t me what did that. ‘Cause, hey, I’m all the way over here, ain’t I? (with a half-jovial, half-scared-shitless-why-do-I-have-to-be-such-clown-all-the-time grin)

Half the compartment: (gasp!)

Vick: (laughing uncontrollably, in Hindi) I don’t know this foreigner!

Me:(to the passenger) I’m sorry. Actually you can rest assured that nearly all Australians are appalled by what’s happening in Melbourne. We love Indians. And we hate what’s happening as much as you do.

A third passenger: Yes that’s true you know. My cousin lives there and has made many Australian friends.

Me: No I don’t have any cousins here, but I do have one living in Scotland.

Vick: You should really stop talking right now.