It's oddly rather nice being in LA, although the jetlag is killing me again.
Van Nuys is also not nice. Going jogging like it is rather like a video game comprimise between Grand Theft Auto, Frogger and Quake.
The convention itself is surprisingly mild - the fans are charming (for the most part), the guests are terribly relaxed, and the hotel is entertainingly terrible.
Only managed to get a hotel room by waving our (suddenly invalid) booking around and yelling "We're from the BBC!" Which is as low-down and crumby as you can get. But you are allowed desperation after a ten hours on a plane, two hours in an airport, and two more hours in LA traffic.
What's odd about these conventions is that, as the day goes on, they get gayer. Gradually, all the straight people head off to nice restaurants, to look after the kids... whatever... and the gays come out to play.