Checkout approaches and it’s time to wrap things up from the city of dreams, the city of angels and whatever else you like to call this town. Having spent a week in LA I must temper my earlier enthusiasm and say that, of course, there is a downside to Hollywood life — the disgruntled writer who wants to leave for New York because everyone in LA is “stupid”, the wannabe actress whose dream never came true, the mental patients let loose during the day who congregate on the metro where it’s warm and dry — to name but a few.

But the one thing people here have, and which I don’t feel nearly as much in my hometown of London, is this diehard belief that there is at least a reason to dream, and that’s what stays with you longest after you leave.

The Oscars were a blast. Being involved as a reporter in the buildup and on the night makes the show a lot more interesting than watching as an outsider. That seems to be reflected in the viewing figures for Sunday’s ceremony, which came in at around 32 million, according to early estimates, a long way down on last year’s 39.9 million.

The slump was expected — the main nominees this year were not box office hits but dark and, some would say, difficult films. But what else can you do? Nominate “Ratatouille” for best picture?

And one final thing. Just as I was thinking I didn’t want to leave this town, except to see my wife and young boy, that is, I turned on the television last night and saw the following program advertised: “How to grow your kid into a millionaire.” The presenter was carrying a baby girl in his arms as he plugged the show. And all of a sudden, I was longing for England again.