Welcome to the Pleasuredome

Boris is stood at the dispatch box, dodging bullets as if he were Neo from the Matrix.

He hasn’t managed to stop them mid-flight yet, but I must say he’s flexible, you must have seen him groove, all that gesticulating (waving of arms, to the uneducated amongst you), it makes him appear like a magician! His vain hope still exists; that he will disappear through the trapdoor in front of the Speaker’s Chair, rather than be sawn in half by Sir Keir! Houdini, whodunnit? Save Big Dog… Woof!

He will end the session like he began it, without a single hair in place.

I fear, the similarities between Boris and Neo, may end there, but having said that, I’m sure the ladies on the red wall will love a man like him in a leather trench coat. He’s no ‘Milk Tray’ man, and not likely to swan dive off a cliff in to a sapphire blue ocean. Rather, he’ll divebomb your kids in the shallow end of the pool, whilst yelling tsunami… then deny it was him whilst turning the water golden…

He is all snake, and no polo neck! That one is brass, and a really slippery sucker… I am tempted to say, “Don’t Go” we’re all having too much fun. Luckily, this lad is not for leaving…

I have just returned from Italy… work; it really was. Look if ‘he’ can get away with it, so can I!

Why do you have to ask? Travel is back on the agenda… Milan, Rome, and dinner at Il Moro.

The main topic of conversation, apart from Brexit, yes, they are still laughing about that one, was Boris, and his parties.

They consider him more of a fool than Berlusconi. That’s a stretch, and I say hold on a moment, there is no evidence of that, it was the dog that ate my homework….  

Dear Silvio would just throw Bunga at it, fly everyone to Sardinia for the weekend, obviously at the Italian non-taxpayer’s expense. Could you imagine our cheeseparing leader, he’d be desperate just to get someone else to cough for the Lambrusco from Waitrose.

Any way there was a reason for this newsletter.
We are in the process of launching a range of made to measure knitwear, initially in single and two- ply merino wool, later in cotton, cashmere and cashmere/silk.

There are a huge number of styles, all your favourites plus some fantastic new ones, and they available in 30 fabulous colours, with an option for pockets and a contrast trim. There are some samples in make which will be here over the next couple of weeks.

The same deal with shoes. I know we haven’t made shoes in many years, however now there will be sneakers, and business shoes, again with similar fairly limitless options.

So, as you can see I haven’t been just sitting around on my perfectly formed posterior!

I hope to add this to the online shop at some point soon as well.

As always, I will be here, except when I am not…

Copyright Adrian Holdsworth 2022

Four Candles – wickless

OK, just because of your of FMO… NEW STOCK – Please don’t panic buy, there is enough to go around…

Get yourself to the website…

 I wonder how many of you don’t get past my first few words. In your head, ‘ere he goes again, what the ‘eck is he on about.  

Tip – Stock up on candles, I lived through the winter of ‘73. Warming your hands on a naked flame is only fun for the first 5 minutes. 

Anyway, I am returning from Ibiza, and at last I can write these few words from the comfort of an airline seat.

I had spent two days with Neil and Eugene, drinking Mezcal Penicillin in a hippy cafe…

Any hallucinations were a figment of my imagination. You may think that I am unhappy that Boris is on holiday, far from it… I am overjoyed.

It would be hypocrisy on the level only ventured to by Government Minsters, and I would prefer a Prime Minister who is fit for purpose. Our journey to hell should have someone at the reins of the handcart, and he was desperate to have that job. Let’s get it done… 

During my journey into ayahuasca I realised that the similarities between our great leader and myself run much deeper than first imagined. Both products of a flailing education, vain, verbose, megalomaniacal, egotistical and self-absorbed. There, I imagine the similarities end. 

Perhaps we don’t share a hairdresser. I can’t imagine him having his hair cut by a Colombian transsexual who is just back from Izmir after an operation to augment her breasts. I have checked with her, she can still see her toes.  

But perhaps Boris does, as he still continues to prefer the balloon brushing method of hair care!  

If there are those amongst you who are unsure how to address someone like this… Let’s steer Sir Keir, she prefers ‘she’, and ‘they’ are her toes. 

Then there is the elephant in the room. 

Suits are back… the attached photo of me as Captain Kirk in skin tight red Lycra only goes to show you that although you think that sitting in your ‘Captain’s Chair’ whilst wfh, doesn’t necessarily transfer to the office environment, and whatever Trekkie fantasies you may harbour, get ship shape, or ship out. This is an Enterprise free zone. 

This photograph was also the reason why a certain actor unsubscribed from the Newsletter, I expect you to follow in droves… Envy… 

I felt upon revision, best not to attach the photo. If you feel you can’t do without it, lease send a stamp, self-addressed envelope and a postal order for £5, and I’ll see what I can do! 
Online Shop

Pouring Petrol

New stock will be upon us shortly, which means there will be new stock on the website, wait for it! In the meantime, feast yourselves at my table of idiotic ramblings…

There are some of you who are new to this, please don’t worry, it gets easier!

Yes, I am newly woke, and as if from a slumber… a new world awaits, is it snowing outside? Has the climate changed?

Lying here, I am squinting into the glare of a ring light, I plan my next foray into the land of TikTok, frankly the make-up looks ridiculous, when I would rather relish a duvet day. I wipe a snowflake from my cheek.

The joker has shuffled his deck. In his head he’s playing five card Stud, Randy Andy is standing at the back of the room hoping for a few hands of an altogether different game of poker. Sadly, I think it is bad for moral!

For those who Boris dealt out… there will be tears and no happy ending. Of the others, I suspect one or two are once again destined to be lightning rods, others makeweights, yet all will be amply rewarded at the Crap tables.

Sir Starmer, was sold as an ‘ideas’ person (Biologically male, no specified agenda), he seems to have run out of ideas, but if he has one, after four weeks he can change his mind again. Let me check which way the wind is blowing.

I make a gesture that in the current climate could get me arrested, raise a moistened finger aloft, and immediately I am struck by lightning. It appears once again, all the pain, none of the gain…

Were Boris and Kim given reflex hammers, alongside the chocolate money, sugar mice and a tangerine in their stockings for Christmas? The slightest touch to the patella, or anywhere else sensitive, has them reacting as if mighty Thor had dealt the blow. The knee jerk that follows would stop an out of control, high-sided, 44 tonne, multi-axle truck!

500 visas, valid until Christmas Eve, sounds like a W H Smith giftcard!

100,000 lorry drivers short, all that talk of drone deliveries, and driverless vans… How I long for the days, when from a windowless van I hear a robotic voice, 10111101, 10111011101, bleep, 011101100011, bleep, where did you get your 10111011001 software programmed?

I have heard the shortage is down to Brexit, IR35, pay levels, working conditions, retirement? Amazon, anyone? But we are not allowed to criticize the men with their giant, interestingly shaped, space egos!

And what about the Yorkie bar? It may become extinct, another innocent victim of climate change!

Interestingly, Santa gets it done in a night, and carbon neutral. OK, there is a slim chance he may be drinking, whilst in control of a vehicle, but it doesn’t seem to worry those folks on electric scooters… Is there a red nose on Elon Musk’s rocket?

Returning to the topic of visas. In the January transfer window Angela Merkel is out of contract, and we can get her on a free, she can be our new midfield enforcer. In reality, we need a goalkeeper, but there no longer seems to be a politician who can be described as a safe pair of hands… Priti paid £54 million for a French defender which has let in more goals than a leaky boat, even Harry Kane has lost his sense of direction, N17 isn’t off the M11!

Then there is the petroleum crisis… Luckily, it has not yet turned into the ‘Gas Station’ scene from Zoolander, ye! But give it time… When questioned, the Government blame the media, who blame the hauliers, who blame the Government, and so on!!!

None will admit to being prone to hyperbole… after all which came first, the chicken, or the egg?

You’re a kite dancing in a hurricane, Mr Bond.

No Time to Die…

Better to be a witty fool, than a foolish wit.

Disco Inferno


Am I alone in the dark again?

Apparently, I ramble, and not in the one foot in front of the other way. I shall leave that to mother, who is thriving.

I am also aware that you all care more about her, than you do about me!

The Government’s attempt to change the ‘Traffic Light System’ for travel has left us with something looking like the Pride Flag!

It reminds me of a line from Starman, where Jeff Bridges’s understanding of traffic lights is that red light, stop; green light, go; orange light, go very fast!

And yet, the Euros continue, on one hand the Pariah, the other the Saviour.

But, ‘Sleepy Joe’ is here, it will be shoes and socks off for barefoot stroll of the beach with our own Robinson Crusoe!

At this point, you must forgive me for playing around with French History, but it is the only way I can make this work, and it’s not as though anything that comes out of Hollywood is entirely factual and historically correct, and yes, it is only French history.

Faced with Monsieur Macron’s chagrin I will display my usual sang froid. Allez le Weekend!

Carrie Antoinette and the Sun In King tied the knot and retired to their Versailles.

I wonder what shape the champagne glasses were at their little gathering, and the garden was no doubt filled with confetti made from shredded super injunctions and NDAs.

Did I hear her say, “Qu’ils mangent de la Mr Kipling’s”!

In the Bois de Boulogne those exceedingly expensive net curtains are twitching, and the proletariat have become accustomed to Burnt Basque Cheesecake. (A recipe will follow at the end!)

One emissary returned from Lisbon; a trophy held aloft. Yet, no sooner had he planted himself on Terra Ferma when he received a note written in lemon juice from the Sûreté. He has been in contact with the inflicted.

Normally he would be expelled to the 16ieme arrondissement; but the Sun In King is clever.

He has devised a new challenge, 10 cunning tests for this transgressor, like Abraham, he is tested by a higher authority. A new one every day which will set him apart from mere mortals, yet he can move amongst us as if immune. This exemption elevates him to such a position of power he is unlikely to fail!

A friend asked for a similar dispensation, he was re-buffed.

It seems the rest of us will continue to tug our forelocks from under our flat caps, for we are not worthy.

Staycation, is whispered on the wind… with a knotted hankie for cover, my Bradshaw’s guide tucked under my arm, I may head for my childhood haunts of Crimdon Dene, Easington Colliery, Hartlepool and yes, Barnard Castle!

North of the ‘Red Wall’ to a place where the sun rarely shines and the foodie highlight will be Spam fritters, washed down with a pint of warm Newkee! Not much chance of romance soiree following that!

Burnt Basque Cheescake:

1kg Cream Cheese

6 eggs

400g of sugar

200ml of double cream

A tablespoon of plain flour

A splash of vanilla essence

Preheat the oven to 140C.

Whisk all the ingredients together by hand into a batter. Doing it by hand means you won’t over mix them.

Line a 10” spring form pan with baking parchment, and pour in the batter.

Place in the middle of the oven and cook for 20 minutes. Increase the temperature to 200C and cook for another 35 minutes, just keep an eye every so often and turn so it browns evenly on top.

The centre will still be soft.

Take it out, let it cool, and then remove the springform and place in the fridge overnight.

Copyright © 2021 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved

Around the Campfire

And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.

Well, it has been feeling a lot like… the Nakatomi Plaza.
We have been hostages held in an isolated location, no ways in, no ways out, more locks than Fort Knox, and at every turn, a devilish new twist created by a criminal genius… Apparently, India wants me, Lord I can’t go back there!

Hmmm! An exceptional thief sets his sights beyond the petty cash tin, and the curtains!

Plutarch had said to me… “Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs!” Throw in a little Helsinki syndrome, and then it’s welcome to the party, pal!

We are back! For the moment at arm’s length, but, is that short arms and deep pockets? We’ll soon find out.

At least I will now be able to enjoy a chilled glass of champagne. Somewhere, where the bottle needed to be placed in a fridge to keep it cold, and if I ask for a little water in my Scotch; it will not mean holding the glass out from under an umbrella! As for the food, it will have come via the kitchen from the freezer, not straight to the table…

Of course, I remain swathed in cashmere.

Yes, I remain a remainer…  Now, the vast majority of the restaurant staff have returned to/from whence they came, will the colour, passion and variety will be drained from our food, and hastily returned to the late 70’s and early 80’s. The exotica that are ‘Toad in the Hole and ‘Spotted Dick’ will be back, the Marie Rose sauce on our prawn cocktail will be as vacant as the ship itself!  

Unable to escape this ‘Sceptred Isle’, we will have search out the good, avoid the bad, and snuff out the ugly; eating like MPs in the House of Commons subsidised canteen, steak frites, could be, two mules for Sister Sara.

It may be for a few dollars more, but I will soon be availing myself of Jeremy King’s magnificent seven. Each one its own character, a Steve McQueen, a Coburn, a Bronson, a Brynner, a Vaughan or a Wallach.

This a deliberate plug to ensure I am able to gain a table at short notice!

Jeremy has remained eloquently vocal throughout this whole period, and I alongside the many of you who I know frequent his here’s and there’s, will be across the thresholds with haste.

I shall be attired head to toe, in Volpe. Apparently, I have to become a bigger, and better self-publicist, a more accomplished narcissist, a flaneur like never before. Ho-hum! If only I had something new to wear?

Meanwhile the painting in my attic has seen the writing on the wall!

I am wading through the new stock, and will be adding new photos in a post this week, but don’t hold back!

The promised jeans were sadly distributed amongst East London’s finest courtesy of FedEx, I hope the same fate doesn’t befall the casual trousers and the denim replacements!

I look forward to seeing you on a table next to mine, very soon.

Hugs, now we are allowed to!


Copyright © 2021 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved

Haircare using a balloon…

The shop has re-opened.

Perhaps not a moment too soon.

In fact, I’ve been open a couple of weeks, but wanted to ease myself back into saddle as gently as possible. So, on this occasion, I will not make any political statements, no bucking bronco! No bruised egos, or NDAs.

There you have it, without embellishment. No fanfare, no tickertape parade, no red carpet, hardly a drop of blood on the dancefloor. All this time, I suppose, I’ve been keeping my powder dry.

I would say I’d been waiting for you to get your feet under the table, but the reverse is likely to be the problem, and you haven’t been anywhere else for the last year… and a bit.

I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to pounce, downwind from my prey, I am prone… to hyperbole and exaggeration!!

If I go too early, I might scatter you to the four winds. So, let’s break you in gently, it’s been a while.

Houdini finally found the key… On the top shelf in the fridge, next to the peach yoghurt and the P*rnstar Martini in a can.

The shackles are off, my chastity once again unbelted. Unbridled joy!

The hinges on the gates of Hades have been oiled, they swung open with reassuring ease. I have swapped my Thermos for a hip flask.

After such a long period, and I have become so accustomed to the fires that burn below; sitting outside a pub or a restaurant away from direct sunlight, as my pale demeanour requires, has meant I have come close to spontaneous combustion, just to keep warm in the Arctic conditions.

‘Flame On’… whoa, that’s a misinterpretation! U know there are 23 positions in one night stand!

Don’t you just love Prince…

I am finally back in the gym, after a winter of discontent. I may never be able to rid myself of HIIT classes with ‘growingannanas’. The interminable sleep deprivation and meditation, and the yoga, but I have learnt to fall asleep in the bat pose… must be that vaccine!

Yesterday, I used an App to successfully book a gym session, then navigated the maze that is their one-way system, which really does resemble the never-ending staircase. I filled my water bottle with something other than Tequila, manoeuvred a bench into position, then had to go back three times for a lighter weight that I could actually manage!

Muscle? ‘Tis but a distant memory.

Perseus on the other hand, is constantly reminding me he still resembles a Dorito. Although I am a close friend of Dorito, I dare not tell him he’s more of a Quaver, and a semi at that!

I will curate some pieces, create a series of still life photographs of the new stocks, in order that you may be tempted by my wares. I will warn you as soon as they are up. In fact, they follow this! This a beginning, more will be added over the next few days…

I’m off to brush my hair with a balloon!

OK, one last political statement, is it curtains for Boris? Or is he just blinds… it was sofa, so good, he tabled a motion, but he has a rattan in his cabinet. GROAN!

They think it’s all over…

Please don’t be alarmed, I know I am not sending this at five-to-five on a Friday afternoon.

I wanted to say a huge thank you all who took the opportunity to avail themselves of the offer in the last newsletter, and for all your amazing support over the last year. I am not always the easiest of bedfellows, but the messages of support, phone calls and memes, have meant that I am able to see the other side of this.

Regarding the use of bedfellows… don’t get your hopes up, it is a metaphor for the close nature of our relationship, nothing more!

I have fought long and hard; and I look back over more than 21 wonderful fun filled years.

Yet, as I write, my fingers drifting wistfully across the keyboard, we are arriving at the end of an era…

Covid has worn me down, I have done unimaginable things over the last year. Given in to temptations I didn’t realise I had; baking cakes, folding paper and staring at the ceiling.

I rose and fell with the tides and waves, and until now stood firm against the Hot Gates at Thermopylae.

I was not 300. Yet my friends, like me, held our shields aloft, stood firm, but unable to form a phalanx.

Perhaps, I was Richard in need of a horse, or Custer and the Cavalry at little Big Horn.

I fear, I can hold back the tide no longer.

Do I feel the breath of a fair wind on my cheek, the kiss of dappled sunlight upon my face?

The snowdrops have appeared in my meadow, daffodils and crocuses thrust their shoots through the earth in search of warmth. Eats, shoots and leaves… I can feel my sap rising…

Emboldened by this onset of Spring, I will fight on.

New stock is on its way.

And yet, soon; you will have no need of me…

Plans are afoot to cast me aside.

After long years of service, I was looking forward to that golden fleece.

We don’t do watches in fashion; and personally I always knew I was more Argonaut than Cyberman. I’d rather be stripped to the waist in a skirt, than dressed in a silver Lycra body suit and a helmet that looks like a surprised Toby Jug.

Yes, I went clubbing the seventies and eighties, and I am in no hurry to revisit that look.

I have, a new ‘sharper’ tool is at my disposal.

I was a dreamer, I thought I was destined to drive a van, and for years I have driven this van, but I went to a comprehensive school and stared out of a window.

Yes, dreamer. Finally, it has come full circle.

By the end of next week Volpe will have an online shop, the need for me will be gone.

I will be here, just as I have been through this crisis.

However, you will be able to click and forget, no thrust and parry of conversation, no glass of wine, no cheery wave as you leave, just the squeak of a mouse and all my delights will be yours.

I will return to becoming the person who carries the things to the van.

Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George, let slip the dogs of war, this is Sparta!

My apologies to Micky Flanagan and William Shakespeare!

Copyright © 2021 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved

In the time of Heliogabalus…

Please read to the end!

I have returned from Narnia, through the back of the wardrobe, as if it were no time at all!

And, my little keyboard warriors, I can feel your hands hovering above the keys, waiting for my next move and this has been a very, very long time coming. I have been sat in the shop warming my hands like Bob Cratchit over a candle, and that candle, like Texas, has been in a rolling power shutdown.

I spent this time mulling over various existential questions, such as; will we be ever able to play Twister again? Yet, smeared in hand sanitiser it could provide a safe, frictionless surface!

Before lockdown, I was contemplating taking up Shibari, a kind of vertical Twister for Boy Scouts. I have a very good friend who is a corsetier and she showcased this at one of her events. Gentlemen, if you have over-indulged during the lockdowns, she has some of the solutions you may have been looking for! Breathe in!

However, rather than make jigsaws I decided to learn how to fold a piece of paper in half. I thought it would be easier than Origami, I was proved wrong, there is someone in Pomona who has moved the world record from 8 to 12 folds!

I, of course remain at the beginner stage, and as such I am still learning to fight my way out of a paper bag!

Whilst this country has been locked in Mr Darcy’s wintery embrace, I have also been trying, and failing magnificently to make money for old rope. That’s the problem with slip knots, they do just that.

In the UK we are coming to terms with the Fisherman’s knot again, where as across the Channel they have engaged us with the European Death knot, and to make matters worse we appear to be hoist by our own petard!

Talking of making money, I’d rather forget the whole ‘GameShop Affair’, should I go long on April wheat Mr Valentine? Should I? Luckily it was the usual wager… one dollar!

Stick to what you know was the advice… Ah, knowledge! We all know a little knowledge is a dangerous thing!

What do we have to fall back on, experience? OK, chalk it up!

Neil my ‘tattooist’ in Ibiza has given me an idea…

You lot have a ‘tailor’ in Pimlico, each to their own!

I am going to speculate with limited edition “Dynamite Chilli Marmite”, if only I could find some. I know I like Marmite, some of you do, and some of you don’t! It’s an, each way bet…

On Saturday I had the Pfizer vaccination… when asked, I explained it was age, before beauty! There was no, ‘last thing I saw before I passed out moment’, and none of the usual mild side effects, the slight headache, or a bluing of my vision. They make you hang around for fifteen minutes, just to ensure nothing untoward happens.

I left swollen with pride.

But, even now, I can feel the leash straining, the reins are tightening in my hands, the pressure is building. Decadence is approaching, I can feel its warm breath on my collar, Heliogabalus is preparing the invitations. Will BJ be his Pretorian Guard and snuff out the glow in his embers?

I can only hope that when Etna erupts, you are ready… not stood at the bottom covered in ash.

To which point, it has been a year or so, and I am once again offering twenty made to measure 2- piece suits, or jacket and trouser combinations from our stock cloths, to those who are prepared to stump up the readies in advance. The price will be £1100 inclusive of VAT, instead of £1390. Any extras, like a spare pair of strides, can be negotiated… Negotiated, I said, no ‘agglin’, it’s demeaning.

Perseus has been sharpening his wit, readying himself for a return to normality.

Whatever normal may be in his strange enchanted world…

Copyright © 2021 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved