It’s kinda silly saying I went to Miami. I was in Miami, but all I saw was the inside of two hotels (Mark’s and mine), the penthouse where the parties were, and the inside of lots of taxis. All of those hotels were on one street. I didn’t even see Ocean Drive, which, I’m told, is the famous street with lots of stuff on it. Maybe I should just watch my Miami Vice DVD again and pretend I saw more than I did.
I went onto the beach once. At night. When it was really windy. Mark and I just walked around for a bit with cans of Heineken then went back to the hotel bar.
Talking of hotels, I love how they added an 18% “replenishment charge” to anything you take from the minibar. You pay them to replace the beer you’ve just paid for! Now I see why Paris Hilton’s so rich. It’s all those little things like that. Note to self: buy a hotel.
The flight home was pretty uneventful, anyway. Aside from the handsome French lad sat next to me (the kinda boy you’d see in one of those black and white Pet Shop Boys videos) who had really bad breath and seemed to want an elbow war for the middle arm rest; could’ve done without all of that.
The celeb spotting didn’t stop, though. That American band My Chemical Romance were on the flight, looking like a rock band. And top MTV Germany VJ Markus Kavka, too. He was a friendly fellow. At Heathrow, waiting for the plane to Berlin, we were both in the smoking area, and I was wracking my brain for the name of the band on our flight and figured he should know, so I made my apologies for disturbing him and asked if he knew who it was cos it was driving me insane; one of those tip-of-the-tongue things.
To round of the excitement, as I was getting off the plane at Tegel, there were two policemen waiting at the door, and they promptly arrested the young chap in front of me. They were like, “Are you blah-blah?” The boy nodded. Out came the handcuffs and off he was whisked.
And you know what? The whole time I was there, I never did listen to the Miami Vice theme on my iPod…