4 am,
having just returned from an evening of the Golden Spheres, which despite the inconveniences of heat, noise and overcrowding was not without its pleasures. Thankfully there were no dogs and no children.
The gangs (?) were middling (?). There was a good deal of shouting and a behaviour verging on the prof… (?) however people were very free with their compliments and I made several new acquaintances:
There was Lindsay Doran of Mirage (wherever that might be), who’s largely responsible for my presence here, an enchanting companion about whom too much good cannot be said. Mr. Ang Lee of foreign extraction who most unexpectedly appeared to understand me better than I understand myself. Mr. James Shamus, a most copious erudite person and Miss Kate Winslet, beautiful in both countenance and spirit. Mr. Pat Doyle, a composer and a Scott who displayed the kind of wild behaviour one has learned to expect from that race. Mr. Mark Kenton (?), an energetic person with a ready smile who, as I understand it, owes me a great deal of money. Miss Lisa Hanson of Columbia, a lovely girl, and Mr. Garreth Whigan (?), a lovely boy. I attempted to converse with Mr. Sidney Pollack but his charms and wisdom are so generally pleasing that it proved impossible to get within ten feet of him. The room was full of interesting activity until 11 pm when it emptied rather suddenly. The lateness of the hour is … the dance but the waiting in a long line for a horseless carriage of unconscionable size. The modern world has clearly done nothing for transport.
P/s Managed to avoid the … Emily Thompkinson, who has beloyned (?) my creation and added things of her own. Nefarious creature.

Thank you.