Newletter – September 2014

September was a great month, I won the lottery.

Yes, it’s true and I shall donate my winnings to charity all £2.60.

And on that theme I will take you back to my January Newsletter and doing, or not doing month, after month for charity. I will admit I got October’s month wrong. By all accounts we have to GoSober…..

£$%& that….What with January’s month of abstinence and now October, never will another drop pass my lips. Ooops, who opened that bottle of champagne, how kind Vash, a sip of that will calm my nerves.

I was on the tube and looked up and saw this photo, all I could think was that this poor guy probably needed a very large drink once he had finished this photo shoot.

GoSober

GoSober

And if I want to look like a super-hero, it is normally the alcohol that is involved in me putting my underpants on outside my trousers, or slipping into Emi’s red Lycra. This look is so over: been there, done that. The photos are on the blog, you just have to look for them.

Yes, those unbelievers amongst you, I do use public transport; life is not all private jets, boats in the med, expensive champagne, beautiful sunsets and happy endings. Well not always, but I’m working on it.

This isn’t a sunset, but only in Ibiza can you see a rainbow, without clouds, without rain and without a pot of gold at the end, because it had no end.

Rainbow without rain

Rainbow without rain

Anyway back to me.

Last weekend saw me at the Tattoo convention at Tobacco Dock followed by Novikov for a DJ session courtesy of Dan Williams and then on to The Cuckoo Club where the glo’sticks are light sabres. They look like props from “The Singing, Ringing Tree”, look it up on Youtube, it’s terrifying.

The Cuckoo Club was with David Morales who was gigging (note: down with the kids word), he’d been with us at dinner. Us being Neil (Ibiza), Wes, Tai, Tony, Lisa, Blu and Dan, and of course David.

A big thank you to Vash, he said you made him feel like a Superstar DJ.

Sorry Vash, but the similarity is freaky……

He has that look that you get when someone orders a glass, and you’re thinking, look mate you’re on a date, buy a bottle to share with her/him/other you tight git!

Separated at Birth?

Separated at Birth?

What I don’t understand about the clubs like Novikov and Cuckoo, is that no one dances. It’s all meaningless looks, sorry, I mean meaningful looks and vertical drinking. Well the drinking has to be vertical; if they sit down they can’t see over the giant bottle of vodka. I mean there was a point on Friday where I wasn’t scared of the cuckoo; it was the Grey Goose in a bath that frightened the life out of me.

Then it flapped it’s wings and in a moment it was gone.

Glo'sticks for Cuckoos

Glo’sticks for Cuckoos

Use the fork Luke

Use the fork Luke

These were confiscated at the airport on the way back to Ibiza, I wonder whose children are playing with them now? The light sabres, not the motley crew…

Wandering back across St James Park at 4am, the London Eye, never fails to impress.

London Eye 4am

London Eye 4am

The month had started strangely. I went to see The Dark Knight in Brompton Cemetery, which was slightly eerie, but great fun.

The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight

Brompton Cemetery

Brompton Cemetery

I’d like this skin cream, please…

Before

Before

and

After

After

The middle of the month saw me celebrate a friend’s birthday lunch at his beautiful country estate in Clapham. I don’t often travel out that far, but this time I didn’t get horribly lost, I just turned up in Balham at a house he hadn’t lived in for years. I just assumed he still lived there, but it was boarded up, the garden was in desperate need of not just a manicure, but a pedicure as well. I suppose that’s the countryside for you. Well I do go to Ibiza more often than I go to Balham. Goodness I’m so ‘metrowhatever’.

I’ve put this in because Neil would like it.

Scartch -Still chasing the Stones after all these years

Scratch -Still chasing the Stones after all these years

In the end, the month ended with some applause. No not for my latest collection of winter clothes, which is starting to arrive, but a huge clap of thunder. It proved that not every day in Ibiza ends with a sunset, but as I ended the summer there last weekend it was a fitting end to the season and as enjoyable as any sunset.

Summer Lightening

Summer Lightning

And just to end, I will be posting photos of some new stock.

 

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

October 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

BOO

Yes, a little Halloween humour, and as you know the newsletter is more trick than treat

And tomorrow is my birthday. Yes, All Saints Day and 21 again.

No wise cracks please.

I had hoped that writing the newsletter would have cured me of my insomnia, but the worry of trying to be amusing month after month is taking its toll, keeping me awake night after night, also worrying where my new ipad2 is. The original ipad has no space left for Apps, and why is it the App I want is always on page 83 of my screens?

One morning  after my workout with OT, I returned to the shop to find the door unlocked and the lights on. Most days I go into the shop early, just to switch a few things on and check emails, just in case any of you are up that early, before I head off for breakfast or the gym. But I never leave the lights on and the door unlocked. As I peered in through the door I could make out Jake’s unshaven features. He had arrived very early, 9am, and was waiting to take delivery of his iphone 4S. If this is what it takes to get him out of bed in the mornings, it is going to be a very expensive process. The waiting was finally rewarded the phone was delivered at 3.17pm. However the worst part of it? He has a Wolves shiny gold case (looking slightly duller as each result rolls in – Jake wrote this bit, so don’t complain that I’m giving him a hard time).

And he now only appears concerned with the number of sleeps until Christmas. Does this mean he doesn’t intend to sleep after Christmas?

At breakfast the other morning, Jason at The Wolseley was sharing a little gossip regarding him and Shirley, she is delightful. Don’t I sound like Michael Winner? The day before they had been out to check on the competition, well you know how it is when the day lasts a little longer than it should, but I really think you both are a bad influence on each other and only have each other to blame. I will say no more!

I have also seen Adam’s Ann (Break into a chorus of Prince Charming, Prince Charming) from Cuckoo’s Knob, and what a pleasure it was too. Oh, never mind, am I the only one who remembers the eighties? But it looks like I’m showing my age. Ann appears to be well on the mend, apart from the dizzy spells, and suddenly I am reminded of Friday.

For the mathematicians amongst you, I have been going to a Wine Bar in Leicester Square on and off for about 30 years. I have seen all the managers drunk, and they may have seen me occasionally worse for wear, but Vash the current manager is one of my best friends and I would like to take this opportunity to wish him a Happy Birthday, and he can have Saturday morning’s hangover back. Don, the previous owner of this fine establishment always espoused that life was too short to drink bad wine. Quantity, never quality was always going to be my downfall.

Last week I was back in Rome. Life is hard I hear you say in unison, but the highlight was hopping on a train to Bologna, so I didn’t have to fly back from Fumicino. After visiting a supplier, I had just enough time to visit a chocolate shop called Roccati before returning. Quite excellent chocolate made on the premises and you can see them making it. Apparently Dear Silvio loves it in here, but then you know the old expression about being made out of chocolate. Eeewwwww. Banish the thought Silvio.  I always spend far too much money, but I think once every six months is OK.

The clocks have gone back….. For heaven’s sake, Ann has just sent me an email. Will I never get this newsletter finished? I thought the extra hour would give me more time, but I can see I’m going to have to head for the International Date Line, in order to create myself a few extra hours. The International Date Line is not what some of you might think, it is not some chat line to arrange some sort of Bunga Bunga party. What do you take me for?

And as for the passing of Jimmy Saville, when will somebody say what they really think?

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

March 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

As you know I like to draw out the suspense with this newsletter vis a vis the end of the month.

However, I’ve been even busier than normal, what with it being my wife Gillian’s birthday on the last day of the month. So it’s only natural that I’ve been distracted by planning a lavish celebration with lots of gorgeous presents. (Gillian – I put this bit in anticipation of lots of gorgeous presents. There will be an update you on the state of our marriage next newsletter.)

Today I’ve cast aside the iPad. I’m rather hung over, and I was unable to focus on the keys. We spent an evening with the man “who is a suit short of a week” and his husband. At least with these two we’re never a glass short of a drink. However he is 6ft 6ins and the expression “hollow legs” was created with him in mind.

I am back travelling again. I had a couple of days in Rome and a bit of spring weather and a meeting with dear Silvio. Just to pick up a few tips mind you. Well you know old dogs, new tricks, and all that.

I spent the time with one of my best friends and his family, the ever youthful Pietroluccis. I’ve known Max 20 years and before you all say it, yes, I really am that old.

He, his brother Mau and father Sergio have not aged one bit. Max ‘Five Vests’ Pietrolucci is a bit of a Godfather name but he needed to keep warm while lodging in Wembley, studying English in London and working with me in Piccadilly in January.

Better than doing national service somewhere crappy in Italy. These days he keeps his temperature up with his voracious appetite for cheese. Vash at the Cork and Bottle has never known anyone eat so much cheese at one sitting!

Max reminded me about the egg box of a kit car I used to drive in those days. Small boys would point and stare in awe at it until dragged away by their mothers. Their dads would stand slack-jawed until dragged away too. Don’t say it; I know you were thinking it!

You could drive it under an articulated lorry to do a short cut on the Hogarth roundabout. I had the hood off in all weathers; well it would be after being driven under a lorry, but it did have a heater.

It was probably the fastest car to 50 mph I have ever driven, but then it would either breakdown or hit a metaphorical brick wall of acceleration, at which point everything I’d overtaken would get me back. But I’ve learnt to cope with the humiliation. I mean it wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.

There have been a large number of new subscribers to the newsletter, and hopefully some of you might do something worthy of writing about. I mean it’s not as if you all have gone into hibernation. Pulses seem to have slowed to a rate where it is hard to tell whether you are alive or not, but in some cases this seems the norm anyway.

The first rays of spring sun, and thoughts turn to, well you can keep those thoughts to yourself.

Anyway David is back in the shorts and driving shoes – green suede, very nice. Andre is sporting his Birkenstocks and not much else it seems, or so he likes to tell me. He’s just arrived back from Miami, no doubt after abusing some poor soul in first class. Perhaps they didn’t want a French wine.

Richard with his sylph-like physique stretches to a jean with a 26 inch waist. He can apparently buy these in Selfridges, either from Dior (so Richard), and Dsquared (so not Richard).

Their assistant was apparently just hangin’ in the department. I am unable to recount Richard’s story of trying on the Dsquared jeans as well as him. These were probably designed by MC Hammer, which once on, he was unable to get off over his feet, trying to stand up and holding on to a rotating rail, which apparently kept throwing him to the floor.

After an hour of struggle he removed the jeans he finally wandered off to Dior to purchase his bling.

Anyway back to the rays of sun. I bet you’ve all been keeping up with Wonders of the Universe on the BBC iPlayer, and Prof Brian Cox, a man who considers himself even more gorgeous than me.  (As if that were possible).

No, I hear you say, but yes; bestriding the universe with his floppy hair and moist lips. Traversing mountain tops, deserts and glaciers. Gazing at sunrises and sunsets. Experiencing weightlessness, flying at the speed of sound, and feeling the force of g (yes, I did have to think carefully how I worded that).

Vanity, thy name is Brian. You’re not the Messiah. Just a very naughty boy with a spectacularly good publishing deal, and great hair.

Sent from my iPad 4

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

May 2010 – Volpe Newsletter

It’s been an exciting month, jam-packed with, well, work, actually, so that’s the reason the newsletter is late  – before you ask, Sam.

God knows, my wife has tried enough times to get the News of the World to part with £500,000 for a meeting with me, but they weren’t interested so we have to fall back on conventional ways of paying the mortgage.

So, that’s why I’m off to Rome on a whirlwind visit next week and for the first time I’m flying Easyjet so I’ve sharpened my elbows and paid excess baggage in advance. At least I’m landing in Rome, not a different city or a different country.

It’s not that I don’t trust BA to get me there though they have just banned a friend for life. The way he tells it, it was over innocent joshing with a humourless stewardess over a request for a glass of water.

I believe him. Millions wouldn’t.

As he was being assisted down the aircraft steps at Abu Dhabi he queried whether the ban would be for his lifetime or that of the airline. But BA is tied up with other important matters and may never get back to him or the rest of us.

The stewardess should worry. This is a man often found by Housekeeping naked on the bed surrounded by empty bottles after drinking the mini-bar dry. They’ve never complained and have even commented on the thoughtful way he always passes out face down to spare any embarrassment.

What else. Oh yes, there was that election business which was interesting.

Who could begrudge the licence fee that was spent on the BBC’s election night broadcast from the Ship of Fools moored near the London Eye?  Andrew Neil mined nuggets of political gold from such top opinion formers as Joan Collins and Bruce Forsyth while the Pinot Grigio flowed.

But hats off to Sky for the most memorable coverage of the election for all the wrong reasons.

I’d have paid money for a ringside seat at ahem, heavyweight Adam Boulton slugging it out with Alastair Campbell. (Look it up on You Tube if you missed it).

Boulton nearly invited Campbell outside but then remembered they were. Outside the Mother of Parliaments. Made me feel proud to be British.

Boulton was transported to finger-jabbing, spitting fury as Alastair did his ‘I’m just a reasonable, stand-up kind of guy who never tells fibs’ routine.

‘Don’t you tell me what I think,’ shouted Boulton, stifling a belch, as Campbell told him what he thought.  Boulton looked close to creating an ash cloud that would have closed Westminster airspace when Campbell told him to calm down while smirking.

Later on in round two, poor Boulton was needled by the deceptively charming Ben Bradshaw, the Hugh Grant-lookalike and former Secretary for Culture, Media and Sport, who has a nicer tan than me at the moment.

Has Our Dark Lord been giving Ben tips and sharing yacht space?

Unconfirmed reports have it that Boulton was later wheeled off to a padded room where he could start an argument with the voices in his head. I’d love to see him interview Russell Crowe. Funny how you never see those two in the same room together.

So, Nick and Dave will be like good boys at a birthday party and play pass the parcel without any grabbing. How long will it be before Dave doesn’t agree with Nick and Nick cries over the meagre contents of his party bag?

Meanwhile Little George is still finding unopened final demands stuffed down the back of the sofa at Number 11.

I’ve noticed that in the words of that cheesy song, that it’s goodbye Sam, hello Samantha. The delightful Mrs Cameron has reverted to her proper name now the election is over and she doesn’t have to pretend she’s not posher than the Queen any more. Good for her. The poor woman’s facing the next five years having to pretend she actually likes wearing £19.99 shoes from New Look; she ought to be allowed some dignity.

Speaking of bargain basement shopping, as you can imagine, Primark is not my normal haunt, but I was told of an incident that shows the level of desperation to which our economic climate has driven people.

A young lady explained to me, how she had seen a man ejected by security staff for shoplifting….. I mean, why shoplift from Primark? They’re not far short of paying you to take the stock away. I know David (yes, he of the shorts) calls it as Primarni, so I can only assume that this poor fellow didn’t understand the irony.

I’ve just returned from a pleasant lunch in the West End, where I enjoyed a salad with tofu and a glass of freshly pressed wheatgrass, or also known as: ‘My usual, Landlord’. I’m always grateful for whatever is supplied, especially when Vash is the Landlord and the usual has a certain vintage.

On the bus back, yes, I know that you all expect me to travel everywhere by stretch Hummer, I was confronted by a man with a dog, who had obviously enjoyed an inferior class of wheatgrass.

He  was bothering an American lady who I doubt will ever travel on public transport in London again. The upshot being I assisted in ejecting him from the bus, with his long suffering chihuahua, Jackie, who the whole bus felt really sorry for and wanted to adopt. But she loyally followed her master. Dogs really are stupid. Bet he’s the sort to shoplift from Primarni.

Film reviews

This month Hardcore Mother In Law saw:

Lebanon: Das Boot in an Israeli tank

Hot Tub Time Machine: Cruder than the Gulf of Mexico but a lot of fun.

Cop Out: The worst film Bruce Willis has ever made and that includes The Last Boy Scout.

 

Copyright © 2010 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.