countessian

an insomniac at the beverly hilton

After less than three hours’ sleep a day for the past ten nights, I stood—once again—in the powder room of the Beverly Hilton’s International Ballroom and solemnly contemplated whether any other loo would be nicer to get locked in.

It’s not the first time I’ve given this topic serious thought. I’ve encountered several ladies’ rooms I should logically prefer, but this one wins every time. I swear it’s nothing to do with goofy movie-star heritage (the first thing everyone tells you about the ballroom is that it’s hosted the Golden Globes every year since 1963, and everyone knows Renee Zellwegger was in there when her name was called.)

In general, I very much dislike salmon pink, the shade apparently favoured by Eva Gabor when she “designed” the powder room in 1987. The acoustics are odd. The couches aren’t that comfy. The plug sockets are ill-placed and inexplicably numerous. And, no one in their right mind could approve of so many mirrors.

I’ve only ever been there when I’m at my wits’ end from exhaustion, though, so perhaps it’s the perfect place for wrong-minded thinking. Or, maybe the sound of high heels on pink marble makes my feet ache less.

PS—If I ever say I’m leaving Los Angeles, please remind me of three things: white walls, blue skies and palm trees.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, April 2nd, 2009 at 10:05 pm. It is filed under documentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.