MAY 19

SO THERE I was last night, about to escape the office (I was the last one there at 11pm), when the phone rings. After some deliberation I picked it up. STUPID!!!! It was Ryan. Apparently some tosser had barricaded himself in a building a couple of blocks away and was patrolling the roof with a rifle. "Oh goody," I thought. I didn't actually think that; what I actually thought was a phrase that rhymes with "clucking bell". Ryan asked if we could get something in the paper. No chance, sunshine it's being plated up as we speak. So he asked if I could get something on the website and I said yes. STUPIDER!!!! He also pointed out that the 5 freeway was closed, or at least backed up badly, so I decided to hang around and update the site from work instead of risking a three-hour journey home.

I went for a fag and watched the many hundreds of helicopters (OK, five) flying around the building just over from me. I called Ev and told her about my situation and she asked if I was safe where I was. I told her I was, and also asked her to keep a look out on the telly for a bloke in a red cap holding a sign saying "JUST SHOOT THE BASTARD" as that would be me. I gave the helicopters the V-sign just to let off steam and made my way back up the stairs to the office, where the timer on the lights immediately clicked off. Wonderful. I switched it back on and turned the telly on to see what the news coverage was. It was superb – after about 3.6 seconds of showing the situation they went over to sports. So I still didn’t know what was happening.

Then Ryan called me back. What had happened was this: some bloke (from now on referred to as “Dickhead”) was pulled over by police on a routine traffic stop. Dickhead got out of the car and ran into a nearby apartment building. The police followed and spotted someone - possibly Dickhead - pointing a rifle at them. In true American fashion all hell then broke loose; dog units, more coppers, a SWAT team, police helicopters and TV helicopters all descended on the scene in search of Dickhead. Ryan was trying to get more information so he told me he's call me back when he found out what Dickhead was up to. Checking the news was a waste of time as Jay Leno was on (and he's a complete dickhead, too), so I flipped through the channels 'til I found South Park.

So a bit later, after another ciggie, Ryan calls me back with the story. Well I say story, it was about four paragraphs but that was all he could get. He emailed it over and we edited it. Then I uploaded it to the website and made it the top story. Then I emailed our Saturday reporter and told her to do a follow-up for Monday's paper. So everything's done, right? I can go home now, yeah? Nope, I had to go to the bog - where the night got a bit odder.

So there I am in the khazi when I hear a thud. (It wasn't from me, honest). In fact it sounds a lot like the noise the door to our office makes when it closes. I'm trying to work out who the hell would voluntarily come to work at 12:20am on a Friday when I have a horrible thought. What if one of the myriad homeless nutcases who hang out next to our building had got in? What could I, a complete coward, do? I'll tell you what I did - I legged it.

So I make my way to the car park. Everything's normal - the security guard is his usual miserable bastard self, there's an Armenian couple having a huge argument across from my Mini and some twat has parked a giant truck six inches from my driver's door and gets a lit cigarette end thrown on his bonnet as a token of my gratitude. Then I realise it's quiet (apart from the yelling Armenians, that is). No helicopters, no sirens. So I phone Ryan and tell him I think the incident is over. He says he'll ring the police and check and then call me back, which he does. He wants to know if I can take the story off the website as it's now redundant (something I'm beginning to wish I was). I tell him I'll do it from home and get in the car to begin another life-affirming drive down the freeway to the LBC.

But once again that night fate had shat on my head. Just before the 710 exit the freeway ground to a halt. I call Ev and tell her I'll be delayed again - by now it's 12.36am and I'd got to work at 1.15pm. The traffic crawls along for a while and then everyone in the fast lane starts getting over to the right. Yes, dear reader(s), some twat has managed to crash into the concrete lane-divider even though the visibility's perfect and the road's bone dry. I got around him, headed home and as it's now 2.20am I'm going to bed. 'Night.

MAY 15

NOTHING'S been happening, so here's a gratuitous shot of Iestyn.

MAY 14

I DON'T know what was going on at the motel over the road from us this morning but it looked interesting so I grabbed a pic before the police spotted me. Ev thinks it may have been drug-related; the woman and bloke certainly didn't look too happy so she could be right.

MAY 9

TONIGHT I had the unmitigated pleasure of wandering around Brand Boulevard for an hour with Jon sampling various kinds of food. Every year Glendale hosts this thing called A Taste of Glendale, in which restaurants give out free samples so people can see what's on offer. This is the first time I'd been to it as last year I had the day off and the year before I think I fell asleep at my desk. Anyway, the food was great and the whole thing sparked another witty* e-mail exchange between me and someone we'll just refer to as "Matt":

ME: i've just been out around the taste of glendale event

MATT: Anything tasty?

ME: yeah, i had some argentinian, then some italian, then some peruvian, then some chinese

MATT: Have fun with the indigestion later.

ME: yes, i can't wait for that

MATT: What is Peruvian food?

ME: it's food, right, only it's from peru.

MATT: Is that what it is?

ME: apparently

MATT: I didn't know Peruvians ate. Thanks for clearing that up.

ME: paddington bear eats marmalade

MATT: What?

ME: you've never bloody heard of paddington bear?

MATT: No, I've heard of it. I just wasn't sure what it had to do with Peru.

ME: he's from peru. darkest peru.

MATT: Really?

ME: apparently

MATT: That's bizarre. Now that we've got that cleared up, was your Peruvian food marmalade?

ME: no, it was some kind of pastry thing. it was a bit spicy; i'm already feeling sorry for the bog

MATT: An empanada?

ME: no, bog means toilet

MATT: No, the pastry - was it an empanada? I know what a bog is.

ME: i don't know, they didn't have labels on the food. which was a shame as i was interested in finding out what it was

MATT: What did it look like? This? [attaches pic]

ME: yes

MATT: Empanadas. Son muy buenos.

ME: ¿que?

MATT: Nice.

*It wasn't really witty, but we'd heard about wit from a colleague and decided to give it a go.

MAY 8

HERE's the temperature at 12:26 this afternoon:

HERE's the temperature at 12:27 this afternoon:

HERE's the temperature at 12:28 this afternoon:

HERE's the temperature at 12:29 this afternoon:

In Southern California that means one thing:

Yes, bloody Griffith Park went up in flames again. Even though we're a few miles away it was still a spectacular sight. But we were all united by one thought - please don't let the Glendale Fire Dept be called out 'cos then we'll have to do a story on it.

Luckily they weren't, which was good as we had enough to do as it was. The fire was still burning when I left at 11 tonight but there's no news as to whether this blaze was started by two dickheads from Chicago like the last one was.

MAY 7

FIRST off, apologies for not updating this for ages. To be honest not much has been happening. We did go to the NASCAR races on Saturday but of the 240 or so photos I took, about two were actually usable. They even stopped me using my 300mm lens for "copyright reasons". I should have pulled the British tourist shtick ("come on, mate, I flew 6,000 bloody miles to take photos of this" etc) but I couldn't be arsed.

There was some mild excitement when I got home tonight and found a box waiting for me. For a second I couldn't remember what I'd ordered from Amazon and the brief thrill of anticipation almost made up for the day of chronic boredom I'd had at work. What could it be? A book? A body part from the kidnappers? The treasure of the Sierra Madre?

No, just my new Compact Flash card.

There it is in all its glory - a CF card the size of a matchbook in a box big enough for Madoc. Wait, that gives me an idea...