Firstly welcome to all of those of you who are receiving this Newsletter for the first time through Linkedin.

Sadly for the rest of you who have been getting this via the other media channels namely email, WordPress, Facebook and Twitter, this is just another way of me pestering you into reading what little I have to say about what has happened in the last month.

It means that you’ll all be reading it apart from the celebrity ex-customer who asked me to unsubscribe him from the system.

By all accounts the majority of clicks of me in the red Lycra playsuit were down to him, and Diana the Huntress, who promptly forwarded the photo to all her friends.

I had dinner with Diana, Fiona and Jennifer on Saturday night chez La Wolseley, quelle surprise. It was to have been 4 guys and 3 girls, but the other men all bailed leaving me with the Three Graces. I’m sure I saw Diana dropping a little powdered Rhino horn into my drink. What is she trying to suggest, well the drink was an ‘Old Fashioned’!

The after dinner drinks took place at Browns Hotel bar, and the staff from Hix came out to usher me past, apparently my close friends and I are still barred entry, their loss not mine.

By the way, there were at least 3 other cocktails I could have called it, but I’ll leave those to your imagination.

Moving swiftly on, it has been a packed month, so much so that if the month had been made of Lycra, there would have been some very unsightly bulges.

Neil has been here from Ibiza, and I’ve worked out if I put that in early it gets his attention, otherwise he will just skim read it. More on Neil later and perhaps even a little Eugene as well.

You may ask why there are so few photos in this newsletter.

Well I haven’t taken any publishable photos since my last little missive a couple of weeks ago.

I hasten that I added the word publishable because of all the stick I was given for the little red Lycra number and wigs; I have to be careful what I post apparently, well at least according to one or two of you.

But the photos I have included are of some new stock.

Red Linen Jacket – Made to Measure Only

Vintage Merino V-Necks – Other Colours available

Merino Wool V-Necks – Other Colours available

Reversible Nylon and Cotton Gilet

Continuing the Lycra theme, Adam is running the Berlin Marathon and has devised a cunning plan, which will be almost Baldrickesque in its execution.

He has been testing a Velcro running suit and I have been helping him.

This has involved me running past him at high speed, he then hurls himself at me in an attempt to stick on; then I continue on again at high speed like Wile E Coyote and Roadrunner.

Now I will admit I have swerved a couple of times leaving him flat on his face on the pavement, but I just explained if he was going to latch onto a passing Kenyan in Berlin, he’d have to expect them to take some form of evasive action.

Still on the subject of Lycra, the other Neil my training buddy refused to run with me last week until I lent him a pair of sunglasses. Well I was wearing my super hi-vis, tight fitting top which has been designed to be visible from space and luminous pink running shoes. The only thing to separate them, were my Lycra leggings, which Emi thinks are much too tight. Well she shouldn’t be looking is all can say!

Anyway there wasn’t much chance of me getting run over wearing that little getup. One or two people driving white vans whistled at me and passed some rather off putting remarks, and a lady taxi driver wolf whistled me, making me nearly run into a tree, but catch me they couldn’t I was moving too fast.

I will not be posting photos of me in this outfit so you’ll have to get your jollies elsewhere, and also I think that the unsubscribed celebrity may now be stalking me; anyway I’m in training just in case Gwynnie decides that the look she gave me in The Wolseley, was more than just checking me out now that she may be single.

Back to Neil from Ibiza. He was here for a few days to collect his menagerie of dead animals, lights and trainers. We are like an old fashioned Western Trading Post. If you look hard enough you find all sorts of things.

Only yesterday I found a spider in the kitchen. Each time I went to pick him up and release him into the back garden it reared onto its hind legs, and lunged at me at knee height. OK, OK, I’m not that tall, but it was fearless. We battled for hours until I trapped it using a suit like Ripley in Alien.

Anyway back to Neil. It was a flying visit as I said so that he could pick up his purchases and head off to Copenhagen to see Eugene, and do a few tattoos. Neil had been suffering from the same virus as the rest of us; either that or he’d been on the lichen again, the serenity has returned to his furrowed brow.

Fortunately, it transpires that we will all be in Ibiza together for Easter. So this means more Lycra, but this time with inclusion of glo’ sticks and more tattoos. The beautiful Scratch will have missed her master, and the sun will now be warming her bones. A summer of partying beckons, and if you are headed for this paradise, let me know, I’ll tell you where I am and you’ll know where to avoid.

This weekend Perseus raised his head off the bathroom floor, pealed himself off the towel rail and returned to a state close to human. The 5 week binge was over and he was positively glowing, but then that could have been the lavishly applied fake tan, and I remember Naples when his legs were favourably compared to a cross between Rod and Penny’s by the Mail Online! Oh, you are so talented Mr Ripley.

And Richard if you have read this far…. 5km in 21minutes. That’s your target.

Ten things Vladimir Putin is least likely to say or do:

1: Walk bear chested into Balans at 3am and order a White Russian. (Or please insert any of the cocktails name you will have thought of earlier).

2: Sit at his desk stroking a white kitten on his lap a la Bond villain, it would have to be a Bengal Tiger.

3: I’m stopping at Crimea.

4: Up periscope.

5: Does my bum look big in this?

6: My favourite film is the version of La Cage aux Folles with Robin Williams.

7: Does that come in pink?

8: Don’t you have something a little smaller?

9: Silvio, Francois et moi, are The Three Mouseketeers

10: Did someone leave the gas on?

This newsletter has been sponsored by Velcro and Lycra.

The Three Mouseketeers

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Firstly apologies, if you have received this more than once. We are still experiencing a few difficulties with our email delivery system. This is not a euphemism, let me make that clear, and that has nothing to do with the next paragraph. We will try to sort this out as quickly as our software team (Jake and me) resolve it.

So it is official, I am having a mid-life crisis, there’s a surprise….

However the cockles of my heart have been mightily warmed by your kind words regarding the newsletter and the coach crash that constitutes my life, including the afore mentioned mid-life crisis. Even one or two of you misguided souls have offered to step in and take over at certain times. Some of you are transparent.

Look guys it’s the only fun I get, so just join the ever growing queue behind me, your time will come or probably not depending on how generous I’m feeling. Which isn’t very!

I had been on a short list.

How dare they, I’ll have you know I’m taller than my own shadow when the sun is high in the sky.

Talking of shadows, I was running across Westminster Bridge when I looked down at the pavement, I nearly fell in to The Thames; at a certain time of day you can marvel at the shadows made by the of the cut outs in the ironwork? The cut outs are of three overlapping circles; just imagine how that image would look as a shadow stretched in one direction in the sunlight, pointing towards Parliament.  Someone had some fun with that. As a former government Minister suggested to me, it would be the kind of place that they will dig up in 30,000 years from now and list as a sight of religious significance, a place where some people paid homage.

Anyway, back to that list with only a few people on it, not that I have a problem with my stature, I enjoy looking down upon Dear Silvio, and little Frankie de Hollande. Not that they pay homage to me.

The list I was on, was of London’s Best Dressed, note the ‘was’, and the best dressed what you might ask, Crab?

Well I had been on it until I posted those photos of me in the red lycra playsuit Emi lent me. I blame her; well she blames me for everything else. According to the rumours circulating on the internet, we are now married. Oooops, who started those rumours? Moi?

Anyway she’s not talking to me at the moment, not that I blame her.

How nicely I can segue that into my next topic. I have an ‘A’ list celebrity customer or so he considers himself, he’s not talking to me at the moment either; and after this probably never will again. But as he no longer gets the emails, he will be blissfully unaware of it…..

By all accounts I have been bombarding him with unsolicited emails of me in red lycra. He should be so lucky. It wasn’t the only photo in the piece, but obviously the only one he was drawn to. He is a monumental star, and so offended by the image of me in red lycra, that he has replied to my Newsletter twice, on both occasions within a matter of moments of receiving said email, which made me think, are the emails of my Newsletter coming through more frequently than Hollywood scripts?

Mig, do me a favour send him one of those scripts you send out as a joke.

Matthew who was in last week, had been laughing at the delivery of a hanging box, the contents of which appeared to be entirely for me. He said it reminded him of those meals you have delivered every day to assist you in losing weight; except only I could get a daily delivery of clothing ready to wear including freshly pressed panties. Apologies for that, but I just like how it sounds.

Jake the wag, then suggested that one day the box may arrive with a set of freshly pressed emperor’s new clothes. I’d be able to venture out in the altogether on my bike apart from and apron and a pair of flip flops. Just when is naked bike ride day this year? Please don’t go searching for images. IT will be at your desk before your desk before you can say, “My goodness isn’t that…?”

Cast your mind back to the 9^th March; we had a very sunny day. Ollie was complaining and I agree; about pale, hairy legs, and dirty feet in sandals. Well you know my thoughts on that Dr Birkenstock!

I got up early that day, had a shower, a yoga session, a sauna, another shower, waxed my feet, a pedicure and a foot massage. My toenails were painted afresh, and eventually once the polish had dried, I donned a pair of linen trousers and driving shoes and wandered out into the DARK!!! What happened to the sunshine?

Then I remembered. I had forgotten to take into account the fact that it gets dark at six o’clock. My beauty regimen had taken so long that I had missed the daylight.

I was left to wander round the streets of London in the freezing cold.

Whence I encountered a Public House called “The Cock and Bull”, and on the chalkboard outside they were promoting a beer called Dirty Tackle. My immediate thought was that that was going absolutely nowhere near my mouth.

Talking of lovely weather, a friend and her friends are sunning themselves by a pool in Miami. Pah! Jealous moi? She was explaining that the book she was reading wasn’t challenging enough and required a little entertainment to pass the time.

I suggested the age old game of “Only Shoes”. This is a game where you have to imagine your fellow sun-worshippers, worshipping in nothing more than a pair of shoes, however, the more extravagant the better; sort of Carl Lewis in Red High Heels to give you a clue. Last time we spoke she was still drinking to forget the images she had formed.

I shall finish with a happy ending. This is the view as I shivered across Hungerford Bridge, it warmed me momentarily before I shuffled off in search of a pre-Christmas glass of mulled wine.

Remember only 289 sleeps till Christmas. Ta Jake, they’re still not going to get promoted.

9th March London East

9th March London West

Stop press….

Alan Pardew received a 7 game ban, 3 from the stadium and 4 from the lighted blue touch paper. Stand back there’ll be fireworks. Having said that, when I see Sig. Pardew at The Wolseley he is gentlemanliness personified, unlike the unsubscribed celebrity above.

Do you not know who I am? Well actually, No; not until you told me.

Let me finally add that those of you who have asked who I am in a relationship with, given my change of status on Facebook. It is with myself, it always has been, always will be. I love me.

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Firstly a very big thank you to Wolf. He moved home during the month, and in the clear out brought one or two goodies round to the shop to share. Here is the new Volpe exercise machine in action, demonstrated by Emi, who was doing laps of the shop in order to keep fit. I’m not even going to comment on that; on the third day of Antioch, with my reputation. I shall have my vengeance in this life or the next.

That is unless of course I come back as a Gecko and spend my whole time eating insects and staring at the ceiling, whilst climbing the walls.

Space Hopper

Thank goodness February is nearly over. We have been doing a Happyathon. This has meant that we have been playing Pharrell Williams’s 24 hours of Happy for 28 days. So 28 days later, I have finally turned into a rabid, cannibalistic zombie.

This newsletter is going to be a shocker, perhaps even terrifying; about time I hear you say. Obviously after my Grand Tour of Italy and extended Birthday celebrations things are returning to normal.

So turn away now if once again you are easily offended; there are photos of me later as a blonde and a brunette, wearing a red lycra playsuit that belongs to our Emi, and my transformation in order to look like Azis gathers pace. Thankfully February wasn’t the month of Hop, or I’d be Azis. I should Coco.

No the playsuit wasn’t for charity, but there is a little of that later as well, and confirmation that we raised a little something in the process.

Well in the red lycra playsuit, raising anything would swiftly become an embarrassment! It was for a special project, and not just only about me looking ridiculous, but even I am prepared to admit I look faintly weird. OK, just a little weirder than usual.

Perseus, hasn’t been around; perhaps because he’d heard about my new look, and he was a tad jealous.  All I’ve had from him was a text complaining about a hangover, and not just one, but multiple hangovers. He says he’s tried all the remedies, and this may be rich coming from me, but how about not going down that route to begin with, abstaining and waking in bed in the morning rather than lying on the bathroom floor, cuddling the superheated towel rail.

The other morning I was sat in my local café (The Wolseley) reading the sports section of Corriere della Sera.

The idea is to look as though I am reading it, it is an Italian newspaper after all, and I don’t understand a single word. Despite having dated a very beautiful Italian girl, and spent a great deal of time in Bella Italia, I know little about their sfumature, or so I pretend. I find it easier to be my naturally dumb self. I mean if Dear Silvio realised what I was like, he’d feel threatened by my presence. The perma tan would vanish and all his hair would fall out.

In the Corriere there was a very entertaining article quoting France Football and their international list of “50 football bad boys”. It was an interesting compilation taking into account the player’s behaviour on and off the pitch.

The Italian take on this was all about soccer bad boy Mario Balotelli. He made it in at Number 10. Pah!

All he has proved is that he can’t dress and only good at throwing moderately silly hissy fits. I had more problems putting on that red playsuit than he had trying to put on his hi-visibility vest. This is why the unfinished roads in Italy lead nowhere, rather than to Rome; because Mario spent more time putting on his vest than laying the tarmac.

Mario has been their Meg Matthews, and frankly some of what he has worn pushes the barriers of what is credible. Of course the common link in this is Noel Gallagher, who perhaps was happy to see both of these characters transferred out of Madchester (sic.), just to make the Pretty Green collection of his brother seem normal.

My apologies, I had digressed. I was wittering on about the list, the top two players were both English. Number one was a 70’s footballer called Robin Friday, and number two; Neil (Razor) Ruddock. I have to admit I had never heard of Robin Friday, and had to look him up. I still rate George Best higher and my breakfast companion Vincent Peter Jones (aka Henry John Lewis), or cousin Vinnie to the rest of you, is and was just animal on the pitch, and no lounge lizard off it.

Well OK, we weren’t in fact having breakfast together, but I imagine that if the footballer turned actor had been there with me it would have all kicked off. He would have obviously ignited the paper with a gaze and a snarl, and may have even gone for that famous wrestling move known as the “Gascoigne Grab”. That would have probably got us both thrown out. Red carded at The Wolseley? What would Marie say?

After her illness Marie looks better every time I see her. We have breakfast less often, but Jason, Jayne et al always ask after her. Jayne and Jason are both brilliant. Does that get me in whenever I want guys? Jayne always replies to my email request with a splendid riposte, and Jason has transferred mon repose to Vauxhall. By all accounts he needed a bigger bathroom to place all his mentions in the Newsletter to the Stars.

I didn’t realise that writing a Newsletter was illegal, m’lud. It’s my defence and I’m sticking to it.

I am also using the newsletter this month to promote a few friends businesses.

I have a friend who has a brewery. You mean to say that Adrian has a friend with a brewery, you cannot be serious. Why didn’t we guess that?

I am easily bought. A few bottles of free beer, and I’ll get your product out there. These are photos of full bottles, I can’t guarantee that they will still be full when you read this, unless of course he has sent me some new supplies.

So Stuart you now know what to do…..

http://www.arundelbrewery.co.uk/index.htm

It is a great beer, and once my eyesight has returned, I shall continue typing.

Arundel Brewery

Then there is my Osteopath who I go to for repair when trainer Neil has left me a broken man. This man does have magic hands. His name is Chris Lambert-Gorwyn of CItyLifeGurus.

He says, “We all know the secret of looking good (other than being tailored by Volpe) is to feel good.  What if you felt good every day?  This is how our body naturally wants to operate and we just need to understand it a little better to help it get there.

This is what I specialise in.  My typical clients are results orientated people 35-55 years of age who are struggling with the challenge of their body not working the way that it used to.  I help them achieve quick and permanent results through a unique 5 step system I’ve developed over the last 15 years.

As a customer of Volpe myself, I would like to offer Volpe customers a limited-time offer of a complimentary telephone consultation to discuss their health, usually worth £75.  This offer is limited to the first 10 respondents.”

So there you go guys, contact me, and I’ll put you in touch.

Then there were the promised photos of me as a brunette and a blonde. So don’t tell me I won’t raise a laugh at my own expense, and as I said in these outfits I wouldn’t want to raise anything in order to cause offence, and no I wasn’t wearing this when I was padlocked to the Ponte dell’Accademia. Do really think I’m that mad; clearly you do!

If you are easily offended look away now……………..

Do you prefer blondes or brunettes? Aaaarghh.

Finally and perhaps most importantly….

In the Royal Parks Half Marathon last September those of us named in the photo below, raised the sum of money below.

Thank you for all your support.

OK, something extra from a Spurs fan this morning. He has been mourning the loss of GB. You mean the Scots? No Gareth Bale…….

I have lifted this from the Mid-September Newsletter last year:

So sales of Real Madrid shirts have gone up in Tiger Bay. I bet that’s improved their finances.

It looks like Real are going to be playing Crissy and Garry in tandem. Apparently they’ll be attacking from deep tormenting defences with their pace, running at them, their tight shorts and silky ball skills mesmerizing the centre backs. Perhaps, they could take it to another level, and run together holding hands, their shirts hugging their taught torsos, hair slicked back with styling product striking fear into every butch centre half. Today Cristiano is wearing a little concealer, this morning he’d noticed the beginnings of a spot, and he always wants to look his very best in front of camera.

By all accounts this partnership is working.

Finally to this particular Spurs fan, I would like to say congratulations to Ali your wife. It was obviously due to her perseverance the central heating is working, and hence her new job. Alison many, many congratulations, it’s about time.

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Senza la mia musa.

I need to get this out before Valentine’s Day, in order that none of you are confused by my intentions, honourable as they might seem. It also means that you’ll have to wait until the end of the month to find out what I did on the 14^th.

So I’ve been off once again. January passed by like the blink of an eye. I know some you have thought that I spent the majority of the month staring through the bottom of a glass, but that was really only long periods. The rest of the time I was at work!!!

I avoided Pitti and Florence this January because it just started too close to New Year, and I knew I’d still be too drunk to make normal, rational decisions. These would include getting up in the mornings, and not overbuying anything in lime green for next winter.

This trip was to ensure that I hadn’t forgotten what Italy was like.

Of course it was all just fun, fun, fun, but I also managed to do the odd moment of work now and then. Well I’m in Fashion, darlinks and by the end of the year I’ll have you all dressing like Azis, well at least those amongst you who don’t dress like that already. If only in private. I have to work forward, so I’m now deciding what you’ll all be wearing next winter, if we get one.

Some of you ask me how I do it.

Well it was Rome, Florence, Bologna and Venice all in 4 days, and for what I did and how I did it, this was one of the best trips I’ve done, ably assisted by friends in each city.

My thanks to Max, Micheala, Michele, Sergio, Maurizio, Simone and Stefania in Rome.

Il Moro

Fumicino

It even rains in Rome

Simone, Umberto and Andrea in Florence.

Emanuele, Davide and Isabella in Bologna.

And Stefano and Carlo in Venice.

I’m amazed myself, but then I am amazing, ask anyone who hasn’t called me conceited.

Hence the fact that I spent two nights in Venice, reputedly the most romantic city in the world, in an apartment overlooking the Grand Canal, ALONE! I asked and asked, yet there were no takers, hence not so amazing!

Not even Tinder could help me with that one.

I even attached a padlock to the Accademia Bridge, with my own name on it and then hurled the key into the Grand Canal. This padlock just happened to be attached to a pair of handcuffs one of which strangely was around my wrist. Ooops, how did that happen and where did I put the spare key?

Was I protesting about something you ask? Was it an anti-Putin, Hollande, Merkel, Berlusconi thing? No, in fact it was a way to stop me eating, I was so worried I was losing my figure.

It took the Carabinieri two hours to stop laughing and another three hours to release me. Oh come on guys, bolt cutters, goodness knows how long it will take them to change a light bulb? Especially when they all spend their time checking up on Facebook and stop to stare when a pretty girl walks past.

During the trip it rained most of the time, so I have posted photos of when it didn’t, which fortuitously coincided with the moments when I had a little free time, if you include being manacled to a bridge, “Free Time”. At least I got some great photos from the top of the bridge, and when it wasn’t raining.

I had a little “Aqua Alta” in Venice, and no, it’s not a digestivo. I hadn’t witnessed it in years, but it was fascinating watching the water rise through the cracks in the pavement in Piazza San Marco. Somewhat more romantic than dodging the cracks in the pavement in London, knowing that if you step on the edge of a slab it will catapult dirty “Aqua da Londra” all over your nice clean shoes and drenching your feet.

Aqua Alta

It’s interesting how even walking around on the duck boards we seem to fall into our stereotypes. The Venetians sprinting down the edges talking on their mobile which is tucked oh so stylishly into the top of their Hunter wellies, gesticulating wildly, caution cast to the winds not caring one jot about the trail of devastation behind, the French weaving in and out as if wandering along a boulevard post Pastis, the Germans at full throttle down the centre, and us Brits sat on the edge shoes and socks off, stripped to the waist, hankie on our heads, dangling our feet in the jade green water of the lagoon.

Venice is beautifully spooky late at night, and wandering round the canals at one in the morning when all the restaurants have shut and only a few student bars are still open is a surreal experience. Then you see what seems to be someone in a little red cape and you can’t help following….

Back to the Gym.

Places of note in each City:

Rome: Restaurant – Il Moro at Fumicino

Florence: Restaurant – Pizzeria Il Pinolo

And obviously La Carraia, for ice cream.

Bologna: Restaurant – Drogeria della Rosa

Roccati and Scaramagli for chocolate.

Venice: Hotel – Palazetto Pisani

Restaurant – Enoteca San Marco

Pizzeria – Il Forno

Incarceration – Ponte dell’Accademia

You know I love my panoramas, but I love my sunsets more….

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

January Newsletter 2014

COUNTDOWN to the end of “Dryathlon”……..

At last a feeling I have always desired; to feel so Carole Vorderman! I think I should write the newsletter, one letter at a time, give me a consonant, a vowel, a consonant, a consonant, then give me a vowel, a consonant and finally to finish off another consonant! On second thoughts that’s exactly what you might say. I’ll leave you to work that one out!

Let’s see. Well as we have no new stock to send you pics of, and I’m not putting up the ones I’m using on Tinder which are not fit for this auspicious tome. Shirtless and sockless, you will just have to make do with an update of my exploits, including some of those involving you lot.

Extra thanks for all the kind, but confused words about the blog, and where it is actually going; goodness only knows, but at least I now there are more than two of you reading it, and thank you to the person who has just said to me that I have too much time on my hands, if I have time to write this. Damn you Moriarty!

The fact is the newsletter is now read in over 80 countries, which according to the advertising is more countries than where San Miguel is drunk, this includes Scotland, and Wales for fear of leaving out those of you who might be offended, desperate to leave our happy union, and talking of happy union we are slowly, I hasten to add slowly, getting some wedding photos up on the blog. So those of you who want to be famous in over 80 countries, let’s be ‘aving you!

Very well; as for San Miguel being drunk, give the guy a break, it’s still only January. My alcohol consumption for the month? More than Mother Teresa, less than Peter O’Toole.

But, there is one of you whose ‘Out of Office’ automated reply says that you are out of the office until 28^th August, are you coming or going? Sven it’s not you.

This is the point where I’m going to mention football, so for those of you who might want to skip the next few paragraphs or leave the room to make a cup of tea. This is the time to do it!

Meanwhile a little something for the ladies. No, not Matthew MacConaughey or Ian Somerhalder. That one’s for Emi, she loves The Vampire Diaries. Well she would wouldn’t she, she is after all from Transylvania!

Tom and Danie

Simon and Amanda

Much is made of great rivalry between football supporters and perhaps none more so than between the supporters of Tottenham Hotspur (Spurs) and Arsenal. Both clubs are based in leafy North London, and are perhaps are the only exponents of gentlemanly banter and Marquis of Queensbury rules when it comes to chants and football violence. The reduction in alcohol consumption during the “Dryathlon” has meant that the atmosphere between the clubs supporters is currently almost cordial.

Tony, Neil, Tim, Maria and Ian are all Arsenal supporters, John, David, Mark and Dave are all Spurs supporters. One of the Spurs supporters confided in me whilst having a coffee in the shop, was overcome by a weak moment following the Average Vite Band (AVB) incident; and admitted that Arsenal in fact were playing decent football, and weren’t a bad side.

I was shocked, treason, how could he admit that? Suddenly he threw his hot, milky coffee over his head, ripped off his clothes and ran off naked down the street shouting “Take me back to Smaug; Smaug is where I belong!” Eventually he came back and we dried him off, sat him down and gave him a flaming Sambuca. Obviously he was just feeling a little under the weather; he’s now feeling much better. I just won’t tell his wife.

You can come back in now those of you who went out to make tea whilst the footie was on.

Mind you, given what is to follow, you might as well go back to that book you were reading.

Michael (Perseus) has been relaxing in Miami; apparently he is lying on a chaise longue munching on strawberry bonbons. He will insist on sending me these messages, and leaving me with confusing mental images. He’s been to the beach to bronze himself, all but his whiter than white legs and ankles. It always makes me think he is more Persil than Perseus.

Now he’s been away for the best part of a month, and the thing he always finds so difficult about this trip, is that he has to be nice to people.

The flip side to this is upon his return we are treated to a month’s bottled-up “bitchfest”. He pours forth vitriol like Vesuvius upon Pompeii, turning one and all to stone. He could be Medusa turning her gaze on all before her and woe be tide you if you try a witty riposte, you will find she has turned your blade on yourself, all Blurred Lines and Amanda Byrnes! However we are working through Pharrel Williams and Happy, all 24 hours of it.

Sam has been home from outer space, although I must say he was looking a little worried. The introduction of superfast broadband on flights has meant that he may be contactable after all. Hitch a ride on the back of that comet Sam; just tell them you’re headed for Mars. I have a friend whose wife is an astronaut; she could give you some tips. I find the space nappies incredibly comfortable.

Neil is still swapping love tokens, currently he can only take a shower because the bath is full of formaldehyde and things he wants pickled. Oh dear, back to last night!

Damian has been in, and hence forth he will be known as HRH King Damian of Krug. If only he’d drunk Cristal, I could have called him Crystal Tips….Can’t really say anymore, except the slop I serve as champagne just doesn’t cut the mustard, with his hoity-toity tastes. Perhaps I’ll serve him my latest non-alcoholic tipple, liquorice tea. It’s disgusting, not only does it smell bad, it tastes even worse, and I like liquorice. I now have to wade through another 143 bags. Any takers please email, I’ll send the taste of wood your way! *Update the lemon and ginger is just as bad. Couldn’t even get through half a cup…..

But I have been missing a trick, so I have saved the best for last……

You know how I love my diminutive foreign leaders. Silvio, Vladimir and Nicolas.

No sooner do you get rid one, than another comes charging over the horizon like the cavalry astride a Shetland pony.

Exit stage left Nicolas Sarkozy (full name – Nicolas Paul Stéphane Sarközy de Nagy-Bocsa, which if stood vertically in Times New Roman 12 point, would be taller than the man himself!), with wife and bambina in tow. Apparently this is the first time that the French President has had a child whilst in office. Pah! Ce n’est pas vrais!

Enter stage right Francois Hollande, in a crash helmet like an extra from Cirque du Soleil, I remember the first time I was shot out of a cannon. Will Valerie Rottweiler drag the safety net away! He will now be living the life of a bachelor, does that sound any better?

He’ll be like ‘Donkey’ in Shrek, leaping around shouting pick me, pick me. Oh of course I forgot politics is a popularity contest. Won’t do well to upset ‘les femmes’ Francois especially if they have you by the short…. Well in our case there is no other option.

Why has it taken me so long to comment on this? It seems I overlooked him. Hahahaha

And the reason we make coats, to get them young. The twins obviously like daddy’s coat!

The Twins

Finally, as a friend recently said to me:

Life is a rollercoaster we are strapped in and holding on, or are we strapped on and holding in?

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

A Very Happy and Prosperous New Year to you all.

This January it will mean that we are into our fifth year of blogs, and I’ve held back sending this until now to ensure you’ll be back at work and bored…. So this will be a long one.

Those of you who never thought it would last, thank you for your patience and interest, well at least the two of you who are still reading it. The rest of you have toddled off into the distance, dazed and confused by its content rather than tired and emotional, drunk on its beautifully written prose. I shall persevere until I am a household name, at least in my own household anyway.

I spent the New Year with my mother and my aunt, at Hotel Casa Mama as it is known, in Somerset. The kind of place where I can go, lie down and be fed and watered without moving a muscle, much like my regular Friday night, without the dancing, peel me a grape please!

My mum is now 85 and Aunt Kathleen is 95. Kathleen lives in a caravan in a field in Gloucestershire and still hitchhikes everywhere as she has done all over the world her whole life, and she’s never happier than when wandering to Cheltenham Racecourse to paint or put a bet on. Age has never been a barrier to them enjoying a party, but more of my thoughts on that later. I have posted some photos of the Jekyll and Hyde days of weather I had there.

During the day on New Year’s Eve, I went for a long run. Mum’s place backs onto Exmoor, so I go out the back gate and immediately I am in the woods. The weather was stunning, and I ran along a coast path through the woods until I reached a farm and could run no further on the road. The bridle path then took me across a steep green field down towards the beach.

As I ran downhill across the field, I picked up speed and on the damp grass (it had been raining if you hadn’t noticed). I started to see what appeared to what seemed to me initially as broken, discarded Starbucks lids. Then I realised that I had stumbled across a shooting range and these were shattered clays. Spooked by this I slipped on the wet grass and slid the final 10 yards to safety and onto the rocky beach, the sound of shotguns in the distance. I suppose as a land owner it is one way to keep the ramblers off your land, and I went nowhere near his daughter.

Me the 3^rd Duke of Greenlagh in a haystack with his daughter; with my reputation!

The run back along the beach was quite beautiful, the sky was blue and I could run along the tide line like a wild stallion playing in the advancing surf. Oh Adrian, get over yourself….

The Beach at Minehead

Later that afternoon I caught up with Fred and Judith, two school friends that I hadn’t seen for a couple of years. OK, more than a couple of years, but if I told you how long, the few among you with even the merest skills in maths will be able to work out that I am no longer a teenager, despite my behaviour. It was great fun, until we were thrown out for seemingly being too old for the pub’s New Year’s Eve party. I’m beginning to make a habit of this.

Fred, Judith and YT

New Year’s Day was an entirely different proposition. The wind was blowing a gale and the rain was horizontal; all day. Despite this I decided that the best place to be was out in the wild.

I’d said to Fred the previous evening that I would run along the beach to Dunster and back; I never made it. The wind was so strong it would have been like running with a parachute strapped to my back while someone chucks buckets of freezing cold water over me. How do I know? I’ve tried that. So in the end I hiked (walked) to the top of Grabbist to enjoy the views through the mist and rain.

I returned after several hours, not quite soaked to the skin as I have the clothes for this; as I should, but minus the cobwebs and lungs full of city air. The party could begin again. Mother, peel me another grape and feed me!

The Very Good

The Good

The Bad

The Ugly

I left Minehead the following morning at 5.30am. Walking down the front steps I disturbed a fox in the garden, and as I got to the car there were two baby deer playing in the road, they danced off into the nearby woods, as soon as they saw me. According to mother, the young even stray down into the town centre during the darker winter months. No, I wasn’t thinking venison, or rug. I have seen Bambi!

Neil in Ibiza has a new muse, and she is a beautiful tattooed lady. As he said to me we all send flowers and little love tokens. Currently he and his muse have been sending each other the life cycle of a frog, a chicken and his and hers fish eyes, all preserved in formaldehyde. Slightly worrying was the photograph he sent me of this lovely lady holding the fish eyes in front of her own.

Love at first sight I suppose. Collective groan, please!

In 2014 I shall be trailing a “Dark Store”. You’ll be able to come into the poorly lit shop hand me your credit card and let me choose your wardrobe for you, charging what I like, adding a couple of zeros to the final tally and pushing you out blinking into the daylight clutching a dayglo’ yellow neoprene “Onesie”, they are so this Christmas. So nothing changes.

Before you read further:

You may be mortally offended by what I am about to write, and I will apologise now. Like nearly everybody I have lost friends and family to cancer, and I will do my bit to help by raising a laugh alongside those of you who will not be raising a glass.

I happily give to charity in its many forms, do my runs, my rides, hold Adam’s hand and generally try to do my bit. Apart from donating to the three not so wise young men who entered the shop on Christmas Eve asking me to sponsor them on their “Thievathon”, any ID or accreditation? No IDea!

For some the Dryathlon begins.

I understand the sympathy behind Cancer Research and Dryathlon….. However I shall be raising a glass to you all. The bars will be emptier, there will be taxis for all and I will continue my birthday celebrations once more. I will therefore donate £5 (Not Monopoly money) for every bottle of wine I consume instead. (This currently stands at 4 bottles).

Cancer Research is promoting a “Tipple Tax” if someone falls off the wagon, and they suggest if we do we should hold our head in shame, this really offends me. So they want it either way, whether you don’t or even if you do, but we should be ashamed if we do! The only hanging of my head will be if I am drunkenly slumped with my head in hands on the bar. At least I will aim to get some enjoyment from donating on my terms, rather than being dictated to.

I am worried if this trend continues, there will not be a month of the year when we are not giving something up, like a perpetual Lent, without the pancakes. Emi will not survive without pancakes with Nutella and banana. So I went to Wikipedia to see what I could add to their list of Awareness and Appreciation Months.

These are just suggestions and my suggestions, before any of you give me a hard time, and I will do my best not to offend anyone, but if I do, please accept my heart felt apologies. You can laugh at me and not with me.

January: Giving up everything, it’s what the resolutions are for.

February: Tattoo removal month – Remove or cover the name of those that may have fallen out of favour. It’ll hurt, but then it hurts anyway.

March: We will now have eaten the last of the Kurtos Kalacs in the freezer. Seemingly only available at Winter Wonderland, this won’t be something we will be giving up just for a month, it will be until November.

April: Give up Winter, it’s so over!

May: Give up Summer, it’s so over.

June: Stop watching reality TV, do something real.

July: Give up calling the months by girl’s names.

August: National Ibiza Appreciation Month – Try and go without enjoying yourself.

September: Stop sleeping, it will work a treat after not sleeping in Ibiza for August.

October: Don’t dry between your toes – appreciate athlete’s foot

November: Give up fireworks – They’re only a celebration of anti-government sentiments. On second thoughts!

December: Wear a “Onesie” month, all month, and the more Christmasy the better.

And then of course New Year would not be complete without my list of ten things to give up for January:

1: Alcohol – Not a chance, I’ll drink to that.

2: Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll – As the only drug I do is alcohol and you know my stance on that, I’ve probably got room for one of the other two, or three; it’s a crowd, or is it?

3: Partying – Same answer as above.

4: The Gym – Same ans……. Not a chance. If I need to rip my shirt off running for a bus, I want to look good. Those of you I train with, let’s step it up a gear. Those of you who start new memberships, don’t fall by the wayside. So for those of you who need a suggestion, there is Neil Baker and Otaniyien Ekiomado. Those of you lucky enough to live in New Zealand you have Doug Hutchings. I have used and worked out with them all.

5: Talking to Strangers – Well they haven’t got a clue what I am going on about anyway, but as has been explained to me on numerous occasions neither do any of you!

6: Breakfast at The Wolseley – It’s closed for a kitchen refit, so I have no choice. Off to Colbert to bully a few celebs who think they might be better than me. You know who you are, be afraid…

7: Give up bullying celebs. Some of them don’t appreciate it.

8: Don’t listen to music by Sting, The Police, Robbie Williams, eighties music and Lady Gaga. I have my reasons.

9: The Arts Theatre Bar followed by Balans – Early morning walks across the parks and hangovers be gone. And don’t substitute them with Freedom, just because it has a couple of poles you can dance around in the basement. The silver, lycra thong will not come in handy, and swinging it round your head and throwing it to the stunned audience is not the idea.

10: Stop painting my toenails.

11: Shots – I can never remember how many I’ve had.

11: Shots – I can never remember how many I’ve had…..

11: Making lists – Use my memory more, now where was I? Oh, I remember, shot of tequila, Joe.

12: The Phd. In Mathematics, let’s start the year with an old joke.

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Brightly shone the moon that night, tho’ the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight gath’ring winter fuel.

Unlike me to use a Christmas Carol to usher in a newsletter, but it’s that time of year and by Dickens I will. Bah humbug, enough festive spirit, I should be skiing in my FagBag, we’ve all moaned it’s come round too quickly again. Sign of old age? I should have organised my time better. Today I broke a habit of many years standing, and worked, so great was the last minute demand. Michael (Perseus) was on hand to collect details of his latest fitness routine, he’s going to work in Philadelphia and then sun himself in Miami. Apparently Philadelphia is great on crackers, I rest my case! Goodness the services we provide for our friends. Although the sign on the door said Closed, I was here dispensing good cheer through gritted teeth, but I finished at three and wandered into the centre of town. What a pretty city London can be when the hysteria of Christmas shopping has subsided. Even a wander round Winter Wonderland went by without the usual crush. This year it is enormous, and yet why did I go? Well I went to buy Emi ‘Kurtos Kalacs’. She’s gone to see her parents and won’t be back until London’s only source of these cakes has long gone. So I thought something for the freezer for when she returns as thanks for all her hard work on the projects.

Kortos

On occasions the sending of a greeting or good wishes for the festive season can prove amusing. I have received three such messages from people with iPhones with the same typo, and apologies if I have sent a similar message. Now I suppose it depends on the size of your digits, but as I have done the same thing myself, and there is certainly nothing huge about my digits. Oh, stop sniggering! Well the M is too close to the delete button. All of a sudden ‘I hope you have a Great Xmas’; has become ‘I hope you have a Great As’! Yes, I know I do, however I have to say that I didn’t think any of you went to the same gym as me, but then you will know that all the hard work is worth it. Thanks to OT, Neil (trainer not tattooist) and me.

Now talking of Neil the tattooist, he is jet lagged, but back on Planet Ibiza after a whirlwind tour of Japan with superstar DJ David Morales. Scratch has missed him and Eugene is there to get him back into the swing of party, party. He’s been busy whilst he was away. I have struggled to open the door of the shop recently because of the deliveries of a veritable menagerie of stuffed animals, skeletons and the like, that I will forward to him like Noah, two by two; once his personal zoo is organised.

Great As

Nothing has stopped my birthday celebrations from continuing, not even Rohypnol, but that’s another story and not for the newsletter. If I could only remember what happened. Damian asked me over breakfast the other morning, and wanted to know how I was managing to keep them going this long? Stamina, dear boy, stamina; or that I am yet to sober up could be the answer, just as the birthday celebrations have morphed into full on Christmas Party season. He should complain, all he is drinking is Krug, lunching at London’s finest and then slumming at The Wolseley with me for breakfast, but that could never be described as slumming it.

A friend also asked me why my life was so busy, busy, busy. I had to explain that if she only reads the newsletters, she gets my whole month condensed into a couple of sheets of A4. I know she achieves that every day, so Auntie Y, have a wonderful Christmas with the family, and those of you with families who have been kind enough to wonder at my excesses; you have my complete admiration. I also share the same admiration with those of you who live their lives like me, so goodwill and peace to all men, and women.

There always things that are unforgettable during the year; some for their happiness, some for their beauty and others that we prefer to forget. One of my favourites of this year have been the sunsets whether I was in Ibiza, Florence, Somerset or most memorable and surprisingly London; every time there has been a sunset which was visible, it has been remarkable thing of beauty.

As someone, (I hasten to add not a customer, for fear of offending anyone) commented on the fact that now we have smartphones, we can take millions of meaningless photos of nothing, and amongst the worst were the millions of sunsets. I happen to disagree. They are memories for someone, and like the newsletter is important to someone, in this case to me, I will post the photos I want.

Thames West

Thames East

Let that, be that!

Every cloud has a silver lining or so the photos appear to show. I love London as much in moments like this, as when darkness falls and the rain is teeming down. People are often amazed when I say I will walk back from the West End across the parks at four in the morning. I always argue that London is often at its most tranquil and beautiful at this time, and there are so many things to see. Recently after a particularly late night strolling through Waterloo Place at 6am, we stumble across the new Jaguar F-Type R being prepared for a commercial. If only it were human, who would it be? Well someone did ask me to sechs the newsletter up a little.

And I would like to add that although I will return home at this hour it has nothing to do with the fact most burglaries take place at this time of day. I rarely wear black and carry a bag. Who do you think I am Coco Chanel? Don’t answer that. She’d have never done with electronic cigarettes! There is one amongst you who must give up tomorrow, be warned I am watching Christopher.

Lastly, I will try to put pen to paper again, so to speak before year’s end. I may recall the year’s highlights, and draw a veil over the low ones, but I would like to finish by remembering a friend. Although Gillian and I have been separated for a couple of years, Mary her mother passed away earlier in December aged 90 years. For the time that Gillian and I had been together she had been like a mother to me. Not to compare her to my own, but as a friend and I know she will be greatly missed by all who knew her, she was the least like a Les Dawson mother-in-law as anyone could be. I will miss her dearly, and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t that keen on Les for that reason. There were other comedians she didn’t see eye to eye with, John Cleese being another. Mind you he’s 6’5” and she was 5’, they were never going to see eye to eye. Her constant companions apart from Gillian, Therese and Dennis following the death of her husband “Den”, had been her cats. Mary never stopped talking, even to the cats, originally George and Colin, and latterly Nobbie and Harvey. She had time for just about everyone and them for her. I will remember her for her ability to send total strangers innocently off the wrong way when asked for directions. Her constant companions apart from Gillian, Therese and Dennis following the death of her husband “Den”, had been her cats. Mary never stopped talking, even to the cats, originally George and Colin, latterly Nobbie and Harvey; who in her eyes and clearly theirs, were humans in cat form. Finally I will remember her limitless love for her three children, who will miss her dearly.

Ever a shy person, Mary was always unsure of having her photo taken. However we all love to be seen in Dior, and I have posted a rare photo of her below either imitating a fly or wearing a pair of huge Dior sunglasses. Apparently they made her feel quite glam and this was a photo she loved. Mary please forgive me.

Jessie (Mary) Crawley

A very Merry Christmas and prosperous New Year to everyone.

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Now as you all should know, however loose lipped I appear, I am very tight lipped about our celebrity clientele, but there is a gentleman who over the years has kindly sent many people in our direction.

The success of his various television series; in our case his Great Railway journeys, both British and Continental have meant that you have all seen his Bradshaw’s Guide, tucked under the arm of either his Volpe jacket or Volpe shirt.

Michael espouses one of the most important aspects of our business, colour, and when we were chatting the other day, he felt I should make a little more of our collaboration.

We were La Grande Bellazza colour before LGB.

Working with him is always great fun, and he always has a very clear idea of what he would like. Perhaps the best Prime Minister we never had? The other politicians amongst you sit down and stop barracking me, I’ll set little John Berkow on you, or worse his wife.

I see Michael every so often breakfasting at our local. No, I’m not going to get jealous, but Marie is entranced by him and will always pop over and say hello. As long as she comes back I’ll be happy.

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.