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When you read this, I will be in Los Angeles, which is nice. I love LA, which is not a sentence you hear often, especially in Britain, where the city is often derided as too shallow, too full of celebrities and too hot, none of which are negatives in my book. The British antipathy to LA is rooted in a suspicion that anything that pleasant can\u2019t be good for you, and an experience only counts if it involves endurance. I\u2019ve spent the past 20 summers hacking it out at British festivals, trudging through mud with a rucksack the size of a car on my back, all in the name of Fun. So the first time I went to Coachella in California\u2019s Palm Springs I thought I was hallucinating, like when Tintin gets so dehydrated he fantasises a sparkling oasis surrounded by palm trees, because that is what Coachella looks like. As I sat on the perfect green grass, eating my acai bowl, I remembered when Brits grumped that Glastonbury was getting gentrified because there were flushable toilets. Britain\u2019s self-image is rooted in 1970s sitcoms, whereas California believes life should be like a Hollywood movie.<\/p>\n
And sometimes it actually is. I\u2019m out here to cover the Oscars for, I think, the seventh time. I know this is deeply uncool to admit but, hot damn, I love the Oscars. Even as a kid one of my most beloved video cassettes was called Oscars Greatest Moments, but attending them has taken matters to a new level. I\u2019ve yet to win an Oscar, but it is at the awards where I\u2019ve lived out some of the great movie storylines. Behold, my<\/em> Oscars Greatest Moments.<\/p>\n What I hesitate to call my relationship with Harvey Weinstein can be charted by the Oscars we attended. In 2011, I was told by one of Weinstein\u2019s 10 million assistants that I was banned from all Oscars parties and every restaurant in Beverly Hills, due to disparaging coverage of the The Weinstein Corporation in the Guardian\u2019s business pages. Once I\u2019d stopped laughing, I courageously \u2013 like a marine, really \u2013 went to an Oscars party at Soho House, where Weinstein did, indeed, try to throw me out and I, marine-style, hid in the bathroom. As we now know, I was not the first woman to have to hide from Harvey in a bathroom. A few years later, Weinstein marked Oscars day by writing an article about me for this paper, complaining that I didn\u2019t appreciate his Baftas party enough: \u201cNext time Hadley Freeman comes to one of our parties she should relax, loosen up, have a glass of champagne and be sure to stay the whole night and really, truly\u2026 enjoy herself.\u201d Not creepy at all, Harv! And here we are this year \u2013 or rather, here I am, because Weinstein is otherwise engaged. Such<\/em> a shock this guy turned out to have a problem with women.<\/p>\n The year: 2015. The person: Eddie Murphy. I spot Murphy on his own at an Oscars party and start hyperventilating over him with hero worship. He, alas, is less excited to meet me and walks away. Someone then taps me on the shoulder. \u201cHey, don\u2019t worry I\u2019ll take a selfie with you,\u201d says the man, who I vaguely remember was hanging round with Murphy earlier. I graciously allow him to take a photo with me, and fly home the next day. \u201cSome random member of Eddie Murphy\u2019s entourage took a selfie with me,\u201d I tell my boyfriend, showing him the photo.<\/p>\n Related: <\/span>I should love Little Women. But sometimes it\u2019s hard to fall in love with the perfect match | Hadley Freeman<\/p>\n Turns out it was not a random member of Murphy\u2019s entourage \u2013 it was Kevin Hart, AKA the biggest comedian on the planet. For the proper movie ending, Kevin and I should meet again at this Oscars and get married. You know where to find me, Kevin! (Lurking creepily around Eddie Murphy.)<\/p>\n I went to the Vanity Fair party, where I spotted someone we\u2019ll call dorky director (DD) with Weinstein (him again) and Matt Damon. As I knew DD a bit socially, I said hi, reminding him of my name. But DD decided I was not beneficial to his Hollywood cred, so he stuck his hand in my face and said, \u201cNo press.\u201d Weinstein and Damon were now looking at me as Eddie Murphy would a few years later, and I was speechless with shock. But Colin Firth was nearby, overheard what happened and \u2013 despite clearly having never heard my name before \u2013 said, \u201cHadley Freeman? I\u2019m such a fan! Can I talk to you?\u201d Y<\/em>es, <\/em>this <\/em>actually happened<\/em>. DD looked like someone had punched him in the face. I was Lizzie Bennet at the end of Pride And Prejudice, Bridget Jones at the end of Bridget Jones\u2019s Diary. Roll end credits!<\/p>\n Exciting epilogue: in revenge for my Firth triumph, DD told friends of mine that he and I had had an affair in LA but I \u201ccouldn\u2019t handle his freakiness\u201d. Conclusion: men are dicks. Except for Colin Firth.<\/p>\n So I\u2019m excited about what movie plot will unfold around me tomorrow. Time travel, perhaps? Period drama? (Nah, sounds messy.) Fingers crossed for a body-swap storyline \u2013 maybe with Colin Firth. I know he\u2019d be an excellent sport about it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\nThe <\/strong>fight against evil<\/strong><\/h2>\n
The mysterious stranger<\/strong><\/h2>\n
The dashing prince<\/strong><\/h2>\n