Newsletter – Cast Off – July 2016

Please read to the end there will be some news that some of you may have been waiting for!

I have moved the information up the Newsletter as one or two of you were complaining that you were nodding off before the end!

+STOP PRESS+

The VOLPE Sale will start with previews from Wednesday 27th July 2016.

Right, so on with the important stuff.

So as the dust settles, tumbleweed rolls past the door.

A hosepipe ban is only hours away, we are basking in only the 4th day this year of over 25C, and according to Jake the year is nearly over.

They are frying eggs on the pavement… Easy-over there!

My mobile occasionally rings, I say occasionally.

When it isn’t a wrong number (stalkers from Italy), or a personal injury claim (of which I have several running at the moment, predominantly for my hurt feelings), it has been Theresa asking me to pop round and fix a cabinet, Jeremy to break up a fight in the school playground, Neptune to make him a new trident, or the FA ask for advice on how to dig a hole and then fill it in again, and again, and again.

Then there is the thud at the front door, do I dare to dream? Hollywood, a screenplay, a biopic, who would play me? I’d have to forget anyone who I ‘may’ have insulted through the magic that is this Newsletter, but as they are not named, they wouldn’t know.

The ‘D’ list definitely not, he’s done way too much Panto, and I don’t dress like Danny La Rue. Oh yes you do, Oh no I don’t. Stop!

Then there’s that other chap who got really hot and bothered by the photos of me in red Lycra. Given his physique, my vision of the romantic scenes would be of a wardrobe falling on someone, with the key still in, more cabinetmaker, than locksmith.

So it’s a case of who’s not working at the moment, and I must say it’s a bit of a struggle, as we have sadly lost a couple of candidates this year, we could have had me playing Prince, being me, but that’s just too weird even for me.

There are the usual suspects; Ryan Gosling, Ethan Hawke, Russell Crow or Jack Sparrow, even an avatar, but then I might get mistaken for a Pokemon. Go damn spot, go I say! Yet, who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him. I can hear Shakespeare a spinnin’, Macbeth versus Pokemon. “Lay on Macduff, and damned be him who first cries ‘Hold enough’!”

Ah! ‘Tempus Fugit’.

The maelstrom of political intrigue is threatening to engulf the holidays of our illustrious leaders and we are surrounded by those whose tousled locks are the stuff of legend.

Our Foreign Secretary who looks like he has been pulled through a hedge fund backwards following Brexit, The Donald whose hair is so swept over that there may be surfers trapped in there, and Uncle Bill whose split ends resulted in the most expensive haircut of all time, so spare thought as we are drawn towards le petit “Francois” who is clearly paying by instalments!

Will he be wearing a bathing cap to the beach this year, and what will be the repercussions for his coiffeur? After being paid €10,000 a month to deal with wee Franky’s helmet hair, how on earth will he banish those stray forehead tan lines and constant smell of rubber?

So whatever we feel about the gravy train, it will be followed by one carrying Hollandaise!

I’ve done a little more travelling. Aha! I hear you all exclaim at once, we were wondering how long it would take you to get there! I didn’t want to seem predictable and just rush in without a little foreplay.

I was back in Ibiza for an unveiling, well, less of an unveiling and more for a casting off. Neil had broken his wrist a month ago and finally the cast was removed. Finally God created man, and for those of you who thought I had yet more tattoos, this photo is of Neil’s hand!

Keep reading to the end!

And God created man

And God created man

And the man’s genius is starting to head in a new direction.

Mosaic

Mosaic

Limited edition, hand engraved dials for a Milgauss.

We shared a long lunch under the umbrellas of the marina and on the wander back to town I spotted a Ferrari 458 hidden under a bleached cover, sheltering from the sun.

Undercover

Undercover

On the way to the airport and Rome for a little work, I stopped at Salinas for this.

Salinas

Salinas

I spent the evening in Rome with Max and his family, at the restaurant Il Moro with the owners Stefania and Simone.

Still one of my favourite places in the world to eat, and eat we did, to a standstill, until I could not eat another thing and just sit and watch the sun go down!

Big Bang

Big Bang

 

Copyright © 2016 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

November 2010 – Volpe Newsletter

Is everyone as excited as I am about the Royal Wedding? Like Dave, I camped in The Mall for Chas and Di, but I’ll probably be a bit too busy to be there this time.

The meeting with the accountant was a little disappointing. He strongly advised me not to try and slip one or two trifling things past the taxman. So it will be arrivederci  to Damian my personal  photographer (he never made me look as bad as Nick Clegg),  Mandy my stylist (once I dress up, she and I are one so she’ll never really disappear), and it’s adieu to Nils (nails), Carmen (waxing), Ricardo (the other waxing), Twinkle (Twinkies) and  Mai Lee (who has daily struggled to pull the condom over my head to keep me looking as smooth-skinned as Dave or a baby’s bottom. There’s not much in it, to be honest. If, as I suspect, you’re not regular Guardian readers or otherwise left-leaning (professional tailor’s term), do check out Steve Bell’s cartoons. Oh and Jacob… only joking.

I let Neil snipe me for Tony Blair’s nail clippings, which were amongst Cherie’s various wacky offerings on ebay this month. Neil says they’re an aphrodisiac lure for the pigeons, but Neil, I‘ve seen the skulls and voodoo stuff in your shop, and suspect you have a far more sinister motive in mind.

Next it will be Elvis’s sweat, Maradona’s pacemaker, Berlusconi’s phone book, the children’s round-nosed scissors Lord Sugar uses on his beard and Madonna’s conical bra. By the way, I have a replica of that I like to wear at weekends when I like people to call me Mandy. But as Neil would say: “Peace”. He’s off to India, and I needn’t say more, if you are keeping up.

Pink, once he’s escaped sciatica and Charlene, has been touring Europe tattooing anything with a pulse. My friend Martin, love god of Ibiza’s Sa Trinxa, is also touring Europe for not entirely different reasons and also insists on a pulse and a fit body. Martin makes his first appearance in this newsletter so I can ski for free in Verbier where he’s guesting this winter. Eugenia wanted to add more but even in this rag of a newsletter I cannot repeat her thoughts. Close your mouth, dear.

After receiving October’s newsletter, Sunil texts from the world capital of taste and refinement that is Dubai, to tell me we share an experience with last month’s celebrity rock chick. Serendipity, or pity us both, depending on your thoughts on the matter. It was a very long time ago, and neither of us is Steve Tyler and don’t want to be. Well apart from that bit in the elevator.

This month has also seen Ireland accept a large donation of European overdraft as a result of maxing out the credit cards. Also the Koreans are hurling slightly more than insults at each other. I intensely dislike the thought of Kim Jong Il willy waving, but that thought has revived a long-time Volpe favourite; those people stood naked at the foot of my bed saying they are ready for fun.  So perhaps I should start the list with world leaders.

But before I do, here’s a mention for all of those of you who begged to be mentioned. Don’t worry, you asked not to be named, but you know who you are. No, I don’t understand that either, but the customer is always right, or so you think.

1: Bill Clinton – just ask Bob

2: While we are at it…Hillary

3: Vladimir ‘The bare-breasted Siberian cat-strangler’ Putin. Yes, those rare tigers are safe in his hands.

4: Dave Cameron. The condom-on-the-head look doesn’t make the policies any smoother, safer or easier to swallow. And I don’t want him offering Nick Clegg to sweeten the deal

5: Katie Price (aka Jordan. NB not the country). Doesn’t she look like she might explode one day like an angry carrot?

6: Ann Widdicombe. A rumba in the jungle is off my dance card.

7: Gordon Ramsay. This is the man who never needs an excuse to get his shirt off in front of the camera. However I’m starting to feel slightly sorry for him with his in-law problems.

8: Mickey Rourke. See Katie Price except like an explosion in a cheek filler factory

9: Jocelyn Wildenstein – see Mickey Rourke and Katie Price. I mean, if I’d wanted a cat…

10: One for the wife’s many obsessions – Harvey Keitel. A formerly good-looking man of a certain age who’s morphing into an elderly lady. It happens. See also: Mickey Rourke, Oliver Reed and David Hemmings.

 

Copyright © 2010 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.