Pismo Beach to LA

Thursday 20th August. Due to Lady P's valiant effort last night, the Bitch at least wakes up, but still says 'No GPS Signal'. Flashman is not allowed to throw her out the window, so we head off on the 101 to LA, once more using the 'acute sense of direction' (Lady P's inbuilt google maps!) A brief stop in Santa Barbara for a Ruben and a cold beer in Joe's Diner, a very typical American bar with booths, tables and the long bar. Wonderful. Lady P declines and has a Starbucks coffee and a cinnamon roll, then off to LA via the incredible and efficient freeway, where the average driver is cruising along at least 10mph above the speed limit but is driving with precision and focus so that all seven lanes of traffic move seamlessly. Very impressive and barely a policeman in sight, let alone hidden radars or speed guns to detract from the drivers focus of just 'driving' rather than looking out for the hidden speed detectors. 

We arrive at our Air BnB which is a very spacious, 2 brm, 2 bathroom apartment in West Hollywood to find Tas is at the liquor store, so we naturally assume he is buying supplies. His text as to what we want is returned with the request for lemonade. Yes, Lady P has declined gin and vodka and has decided on shandies. Now, you would have thought that if Tas was actually in the liquor store he would be buying, well liquor. He returns with a single bottle of lemonade and says, "Where's the beer?" Luckily, Flashman had two bottles in his kit bag, along with a bottle of wine from Placerville, so we survived for a short while. Feeling adventurous, we head off in search of a taxi to 'The Farmer's Daughter Hotel', where Claire and Donna (Melbourne friends of Tas) were staying, well actually leaving, for Australia at 10 PM. A small difficulty in hailing a cab was resolved by dropping into a bar/restaurant, having a beer and a chat to the barman and getting the greeter to call us a cab. What's a greeter, you say? Well, in the US, you go into a diner or restaurant and the first person you see, usually a 13 yr old gal, is the greeter. A person with considerable power as she hands you over to a seater who shows you to a table or booth. Piss off the greeter and you might get 'sorry no table' or unbeknown to you, she whispers to the seater, 'give the pricks the back table.' The seater then hands you over to the waiter, who then as soon as you sit down,  hands you the menu asks you what you want to drink. Do not, and I repeat do not delay, as you may never see her again. Anyways, we have a beer and a great long chat to the very helpful barman and the greeter calls us a cab. We then get to the Farmer's Daughter, have a quick catch up with Claire and Donna before they rush off to the airport. Three plates of appetizers later, which were quite good, and we walk the mean streets of Hollywood in search of a bar.  We find the Plan Check Bar. We enter. We notice we are probably as old as the patrons' grandparents and certainly the only three over 30 in the whole place, but hey, we're hip and mozie up to the bar and order beers and cocktails. The bald (shaven of course) headed bloke next to us is drinking Bunderberg Ginger Beer. Amazing. We ask the greeter to call us a cab and for the second time tonight Flashman notices a little smirk on the greeter's face. Over the noise of the music, Lady P informs him that the young ones keep telling us older ones to use Uber not cabs. Home to our apartment and open the white wine which is now cold and then hit the bed.