THE MONTH I HATE THE MOST IS ALWAYS FEBRUARY

My Friday the thirteenth of February 2009 lasted about 44 hours, crossing the International Date Line from The Land of the Long White Cloud to The Land of the Free, but amazingly nothing went wrong. I waited five hours at LAX airport, taking over an hour to get through customs and immigration, yes “lax” is the word. I waited at the arrivals terminal for the world’s worst kept secret to arrive…

Obviously I didn't bump into her in the Hollywood Hills - Natalie had asked me in Thailand if she could meet me in LA.

I stupidly agreed.

So part of the reason you’re reading this is for the goss between me and the other (almost) omnipresent character in this story - Natalie. Well, you’ll need to read on for that, but first off I guess you need to know my thoughts and feelings towards her on Friday 13th … After numerous arguments-by-skype and some other stuff I didn’t feel the same about her as I once did. You know that paranoid, possessive, jealous dude that turned up and took over my brain like a bodysnatcher? Well we’ve seen the last of him… I’m not sure whether it happened to me or I made it happen, but either way I wasn’t head over heels with her any more. Look to be honest, I didn’t know how I felt about seeing her, if I had to put it in numbers it would be 5% excitement, 95% dread.

After an hour stood trying to look cool for when she walked through the gate I received a text on my Australian mobile saying “Where the fuck are you?” She had done better than me, flying with BA; every time I tried he said “You ain’t getting me on no plane, fool!”

So actually seeing Natalie again wasn’t what I expected. First of all, I knew I didn’t feel the same way about her, but that didn’t stop me picking her up, twirling her round and planting kisses on her full, ample lips. I put her down and took a step back to admire her… Wait a God-damned minute. Where was the serene seraphim I left three months ago in Thailand? What have you done with the real Natalie?

Instead I was presented with grungy, hooded emo-girl. She looked like a groupie that had been travelling on a tour bus for the last month. I was gobsmacked; what the fuck was this? I want my Natalie, not this impostor, this pretender to the throne. That said I was also in a hoodie and my third new pair of sneakers in a little over a week, these are my favourite; DC’s.

Hugs and kisses made way for the bus ride to our hostel where we cuddled up on the back seat, exhausted from our flights. Here, I worked out why we both looked so different to each other, we were dressed as we normally dressed for England. We’d only seen each other in Thailand costume before. Shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops for me, the same or floral dresses for her. As we intertwined legs at the back of the bus I couldn’t help feeling that his was strange, at several junctures I very nearly didn’t meet her, to tell the truth although I really wanted to see her, I was dreading it. Over the next few days as we walked hand in hand or arm in arm, everything felt okay. Not what I was bargaining for.

We alighted the bus and train and walked down Hollywood Boulevard to our hostel. I had the foresight to ask for our own room for the first night as we needed peace and quiet after our flights. The next day we walked along The Walk of Fame where we found our favourite stars.

Mine was Orson Welles, child genius and cinematic auteur, actor, ham, writer, director of the constantly ranked best film of all time, raconteur and broadcaster.

Natty’s was Lassie, fluffy, life-saving Collie.