It feels like spring is in the air. Maybe it’s because the Oscars are over, or the fact that it hasn’t rained for a while but last week I pulled my dust-covered flip-flops out of my walk-in closet instead of my Ugg boots.

Then I saw the state of my winter feet, threw the flip-flops to one side and put my boots back on. Hobbit-feet are singularly unattractive in a woman. Hell, in a man too. Thankfully, mani-pedicures are fairly inexpensive out here and people get them regularly.

One of my friends gets her manicures done at the same salon as Nancy Reagan in Beverly Hills. I don’t go there but to a lovely lady on Los Feliz Boulevard. Really, if you’re looking for a cheap thrill, there’s nothing nicer than an hour in the pedi-chair, Black-berrying and sipping on a Jamba Juice.

But I digress. The spring weather came at the right time for a weekend visit to my old stomping ground Marina Del Rey. I was cat sitting for my friend Toby and decided to drag my boyfriend to the farmer’s market in Santa Monica on Sunday morning.

I used to cycle the beach path to the market (you can valet your bike for free) but this time because there were two of us (and only one bike) we took the car, and I was delighted when we drove past the market and saw that Klezmer Juice were providing the music (that’s them in the photo).

The place was packed with fresh-faced hipsters wandering around with paper plates piled high with food. I usually line up at the tamale stand (never ate them before I moved here but now I’m hooked) but this morning I made a bee-line for the French food stall which was offering a very tasty spinach quiche and salad for $6.

Sitting on the grass, watching the world go by was a delightful way to start the day. I miss the west side for the beach life, my daily bike rides and laid back atmosphere. The east side has a more creative, towny vibe to it and it’s also nearer to Hollywood and my friends, which is why I love it there. But if I could split myself in two, I’d live on both sides of town.

Food demolished, it was time to hit the road. We headed up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu, which is fairly disparate looking. Where do people hang out? I can’t make head nor tail of it. To me it’s just a busy highway with half-hidden beach houses, rotten parking and no atmosophere. Maybe I’d feel differently if I had Jennifer Aniston’s deep pockets and a beach-side mansion. But where’s the centre? It really is the strangest place.

We decided to hang a right and head up one of the canyon roads which lead us to Malibu Creek State Park. It’s been raining heavily for two months so now everywhere you look is green and verdant (as opposed to yellow and dusty). We stopped at a viewpoint overlooking the ocean and I swear we could have been looking down over a Welsh valley.

We also happened upon a very impressive Hindu temple near King C. Gillette’s ranch, which I later discovered was built in 1977 and is open every day of the year for prayer. King Gillette by the way is the razor-blade magnate and he bought great tracts of land in the Santa Monica mountains in the 1920’s, most of which is now a conservation area. His ranch alone is 588 acres and is home to many endangered species (insert bad joke here about beards and stubble).

It was a perfect spring afternoon: the air was warm, the squirrels were bouncy and we had John Williams on the iPod. It still amazes me how much there is to see in California. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. It really is the best a man (and woman) can get.