Hey, Beckham, welcome to L.A.

From WHAT I HEAR through the grapevine, there’s this new family in town, the Beckhams. She’s a sexed-up former pop star. He’s some sort of athlete (basically a trophy husband). I’m excited, because if L.A. needs anything, it’s a few more high-achievers.

“I give their marriage six months here,” says my wife (Mama Spice), spotting the handsome pair on the front page.

“You’re very cynical about marriage, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Where’s my bra? I can’t find my bra,” she says.

Seriously, how much should you listen to someone who can’t even keep track of her own undergarments? That’s a very typical L.A. trait, by the way. Britney Spears keeps losing her britches. Me, I’m always missing a sock.

“Have you seen my bra?” Mama Spice asks our 4-year-old.

“I like ponies,” he says. “Do you like ponies?”

“Maybe it’s in the dryer,” my wife says and heads off to the kitchen/utility room/asylum.

Hey, David Beckham, you seem like a decent bloke, what everybody here calls a “mensch.” So as one trophy husband to another, I just want to say that you’ve brought your kids to a very family-oriented little city. Safe streets. Great schools. Good people. I think you’ll discover it’s a remarkably normal place.

Many L.A. residents celebrate Christmas, for example. We find the children love it, and the churches are often overflowing on Christmas Eve, full of fellowship and warm thoughts. One guy I know even turned off his Blackberry during the late service. That’s pretty unusual, though. Actually, it was the minister.

Let’s see, what else? Oh, on weekends, we often get together to barbecue with friends, the scent of grilled chicken wafting across the canyons like fine liqueur. Really, just drop by. You’ll find that L.A. is a very welcoming town -- the pubs and clubs, particularly. Don’t be put off by the big beasts manning the door. They are there to help.

While you’re exploring your new ‘hood, check out the beaches. Zuma is probably worth a look -- try the chowder at Neptune’s Net. And, in a few months, snow will be falling in the local mountains. Meanwhile, Catalina Island is a mere 22 miles away; San Francisco, 400 (best steroids in the state!).

Back home here, you’ll note that there are a few show biz types loitering around. Don’t be alarmed. Most are heavily medicated. You’ll occasionally stumble across a movie star right on the street, or passed out along the curb. Fortunately, police are pretty good about rounding them up before the kids go off to school.

So as you can see, L.A. is a very ordinary place, really.

I’ll bet the real estate agent forgot to mention it, but traffic can be a little gnarly at times. Everybody owns a car, in some cases five or 10. The freeways are busy as a goal box. Rule of thumb: Give yourself a 30-minute cushion; then you’ll only be 30 minutes late.

If you ever have to go to the Valley (probably not), consider Coldwater up to the 101, though lately that’s been a bloody mess as well, the traffic crawling up the hillside, then down again. Stop-go-stop-go-stop-stop-stop

The other day I went to see the leggy dentist whose office is near you in Beverly Hills, and I swear it took 90 minutes from our place near Glendale. After a few years here, your right hip will probably start giving you problems, little twinges just before bed. You’ll think it’s from too many corner kicks when in fact it will be the cumulative effects of too many stoplights along Wilshire, which they’re considering tearing up to put in a subway. Can you imagine?

Anyway, except for those petty annoyances, you’ll have a swell time here. It’s a family place. It’s Indianapolis.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the extensive youth soccer program. We belong to AYSO, the biggest league this side of the pond. Sign-ups were in April, but I still might be able to get the boys in. I’ll talk to Tom.

We may even have a coaching spot for you, Daddy-O, though they require that you attend all sorts of clinics and you’ll probably have to take a referee course as well. Those things last all day, but the league usually throws in lunch -- pizza and salad, yum.

Hey, speaking of yum, you think Posh would volunteer as Team Mom? It’s a pretty easy gig. She’d have to be good with e-mail and organize the team party at the end of the season, which can be kind of a pain, what with everybody so busy these days.

But talk to her, would you? I’ll send over a few forms.

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Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com. For more columns, see latimes.com/erskine.