One night after flying to Los Angeles from my homeland England, I met a girl at a party.
In those days girls used to go to parties.
This one was at the Coconut Grove in Los Angeles, and there, right before my veries, was the girl I had grown up loving from afar. (Well, from the 15th row of the cinema, which is far enough).
After chatting her up for a few moments with the usual incredible charm and wit learned from Cary Grant, I was able to ask her where her twin sister was, and ask if she still had the great treehouse, and the most troubling for me of course, what had happened to the bloke in Whistle Down the Wind.
I was happy to find that Pollyanna, oops... Hayley, had heard of me, and we became good friends.
What a lovely person. She would come over to our house on Benedict Canyon and let herself be thrown into the swimming pool.
I was sad when she ran off with Cary Grant's son, and blew up her car.
Her Dad was a bit upset. “I don't think so, Herman”.
— 😎 Herman