June Newsletter 2016

Once again I am asked how I come up with these phantasmagorical tales.

Well let me tell you.

You leave a couple of politicians in charge of the magical lantern and suddenly they are projecting all sorts of frightening images onto the wall, playing with our imagination, fuelling our fears, creating a farrago, until in their frenzy to outdo each other, they knock the magic lantern over and then scarper, blaming each other for burning the theatre down.

I think we drew the short straw.

The Italians have opera, which is their theatre drawn from real life, the Japanese; Kabuki with their exotic make-up, masks and songs, the Mexicans have their wrestling with its exotic make-up, masks and songs, just ask Donald; and the Welsh have Gareth Bale.

We have on the other hand have got the “The Good Old Days” back, with Leonard Sachs and all the pathos of a smug pug singing the “Marseillaise”. Apparently we have our country back?

Long, lazy days of doing sweet FA, not unlike our premiership superstars. Drinking cider in the parks, fighting like the Inter City Firm, no grudge too small, no boots too big, all in the days before love and ecstasy. How bizarre to see a smile on everyone’s face.

I owned an Austin Allegro with its oddly shaped, square steering wheel and it didn’t matter if it was made on a Friday, it was a dreadful car on whichever of the 3 days a week it was made. I think it ran on coal, and the suspension was made out of elastic bands.

Now admittedly if I was dragged back to “The Darling Buds of May” and Catherine Zeta-Jones was my Cherie Amour I might view it as a lovely summer day, but 1976 was a long time ago, and there is only so much rolling around in the hay one can do. Quiet, anybody who thinks they know better!

How the nostalgia seeps up through cracks in the pavement, and it will, but we have moved on.

With the French in charge of EDF, the Germans owning nPower and Eon UK, the Spanish, Scottish Power, to paraphrase ‘The Sun’; “If common sense does not prevail, will the last person to leave Britain please blow the candle out!”

I am fascinated to see how nasty politics has become. Perhaps they have been trapped in the underworld for a very long time with Perseus, drinking absinthe and caustic soda, watching endless repeats of Eastenders.

Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment was stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out.

If only I could get him to give Boris’s bike puncture!

Now, is not the time for politicians to enter into philosophical discussion, it is time to run. The masses now have pitchforks and the politicians are looking a lot like Wicker Men.

Anyway I shall head back to Ibiza, and Hedonism not Hades, I know where my priorities lie.

I will not be staying in the new rural hotel bocadilloed between the club DC10 and the airport. It is called ‘In Flagrante’. So if you are spied in ‘delicto’ it will be by drugged up clubbers from 500ft landing at 3am. I supposed you might say. “Only in Ibiza”.

Since May’s newsletter I have visited the island a couple of times. The first trip involved Neil, Tony and myself spending the night in the DJ booth at Pacha with a young, up and coming DJ called David Morales. The best set I have ever witnessed, below are a couple of photos.

Can you call me back, I'm working

Can you call me back, I’m working

Needin' U

Needin’ U

It finished very late! As it did every night, and I will admit to falling asleep for 20 minutes at the bar, Itaxa at 6.30am, where they serenaded me into slumber with a Spanish guitar. The eighty year old lady, who owns it, gave me a tea towel for a pillow! Tony’s eyes were open, but don’t sharks sleep that way?

We visited a bar called Exis owned by Birgit a German friend and she has a wall covered in photos of clients over the years. It was a poignant reminder of losing my dear friend Richard, 5 years ago, and how many of the faces that stare out from these photos are still with us?

The photo speaks for itself.

The Wall

The Wall

We enjoyed the usual birthday celebrations on Formentera, and after 6 litres of vodka, this spider saw a fly and the hypnotic spray from the wake of the boat sped us from one paradise to another.

FLy

Fly

Spray

Spray

June is easily the best month in Ibiza, the sea not too crowded, nor the restaurants or bars, people are still calm. Neil is still drinking green tea, before the triple espresso, high octane ‘cafe caleta’ season starts.

As in the past I have used trips to Ibiza to avoid going to Pitti Uomo in Florence. This may be the final straw, and why I may never go again. I also re-iterate, this is not me. It is so wrong on so many levels and in what world does this person think this looks acceptable. There are moments in fashion where you realise that the vogue has reached a tipping point and those teetering on the brink will tumble into the sea to be dashed against the rocks, dresses made out of newspaper, anything with a medusa’s head, shoes that make you walk like Dick Emery and braces that look like a ‘Mankini’ for a dandy!

Brace yourself

Brace yourself

Lastly a sunset, because we have been bereft of suns a setting, lords a leaping, seven swans a swimming, I have been lucky with the ladies dancing, but one makes ones own luck? Unless you are sharing a table in a restaurant; some will know this story, the rest can only guess at how I might have been transformed!

Sunset

And a Jakeism to end – Christmas is now closer than the last New Year. Joy, thy name is Time!

Copyright © 2016 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

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.

January 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

Well, for January I was going to give up writing newsletters, but I failed half way through, and now it’s an obsession. Perhaps that’s going a bit far, but I’ve started, so I will finish. My monthly stalking of my unsuspecting subscribers will continue

So, New Year’s Resolutions: Did I give up alcohol? No, is the simple answer. I tried, Oh how I tried, but I failed miserably, several times. Vash, you are to blame and you too Izzy. In these situations my glass was never half empty; you could say my cup runneth over. But of course it didn’t because I was never one to waste a drop. And then there was Terry, Michael and Tony who all valiantly assisted in my abstinence: or should that be downfall? Thank you to Spiked Milligan, I’m not sure how you make one, but it did the trick. I think the basement Spanish Bar in…. Do you know, I can’t remember!

Why did I take to drink? Well my personal email account was hacked. No, no not this one; have no fear you won’t be inundated with requests for money because I have suddenly been marooned in Asia. Thanks for that one Wolf, but we won’t raise much money for the round-the-world trip that way.

I know who, I know when and I know why, and it saddens me (although perversely I am also flattered by the attention I have received). Those of you who know me well, will know why, the rest; I will leave you to let your imagination run wild. You couldn’t make it up, except they did, trust me.

I have changed my password, my identity and according to what was done, my past, and they believed it? Look, if they have the ability to get in, they can make it say anything they want.

The next thing I will have Taylor Swift writing a song about me, or worse a medieval ditty by Gordon.

Those of you who have braved the cold and spent a large portion of January in the gym, I salute you; you are almost as dedicated as I am, but that requires a special type of obsession.

Although I do admit I have been a wimp with regarding to getting out on the bike. Sorry David, but it has been grim out there. So I consigned myself to the gym, firming the bits that needed toning, toning the bits that needed firming, and generally attempting to make myself more gorgeous than before. Tough I admit, but I shall not give in. I shall not wither with age; in fact I have now taken to sleeping in a bath full of cells cultivated from a small patch from behind my left ear.

The right ear was not deemed up to scratch. I haven’t told it yet, just in case it sulks because it thinks I have a favourite. (Layer Cake joke).

Neil has been in Beirut, doing his bit for Middle East relations. It’s strange how many of my friends have headed out east to try. He didn’t achieve what he had hoped, but I know he will soon be off to the Far East with superstar DJ David Morales. Poor Scratch, Neil’s faithful puppy will be pining again, but she will be living it up on her new blanket of recycled fur and cashmere. At least Neil can get his coat back. I shall make an effort to head to Ibiza for a tantric yoga retreat. Do I want to learn the art of being tantric and all it has to offer?

However first I shall hoist up my Monoski and head for the Alps, where I can put on my fagbag and ski from dawn till dusk.  Because of the cold, I shall be wearing my fur-lined boots. (See the blog site). Now I admit they are a little camp, but that is me all over. Oh please, not clad in fur and leather, I haven’t done that for years, well not in public anyway.

Those of you who have listened to my ranting’s and ravings, thank you. I hope you can stop laughing just long enough to spare my feelings. I am a sensitive soul. Yes, really.

Anyway, I shall move on, try to be an adult and wish those of you it applies to, a very happy Year of the Snake (oh, will you stop sniggering at the back). And “Danish”, get better soon.

So as we have mentioned another New Year, I suppose I’d better make another resolution: suggestions anyone?  And keep them clean… Please?

 

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

September 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

The “Closing Party Season” is upon us.

I am sat outside the shop adorned in a garment I will mention later in the newsletter, happily tapping away at the keyboard, enjoying the last rays of summer sun. Around me people are as inappropriately dressed as I am, oblivious to the onset of the evening air which will wrap its cold arms around them like a vampire’s embrace (creative writing course)!

Friends from far and wide are descending upon Ibiza to enjoy one last hurrah, before they hang up their Glo-Sticks for a few months.

The weather in Ibiza until now has been everything it hasn’t been here, hot, very hot and sunny, and did I say hot. However for the last weekend of the season we managed to send them a little rain and some thunder in an attempt to dampen their spirits, whilst they wander around Circoloco at DC10 or whichever club they can blag their way into.

Mateo, the mild mannered architect from La Coruna is there for a stag party. Not his own I should add, but he phoned me to ask me where he could buy a fluorescent “mankini”. How the heck should I know? I would have said something else, but the spam filters you know! We’ve been friends a very long time and because we are the same size, we’ve shared clothes, but never, ever again.  I mean I shudder at thought of sharing my mankini with anyone! Anyway I need mine for the weather here.

Neil, the tattooist phoned me yesterday to complain that I’d been neglecting him. So we chatted for a while on Skype. I have missed him this year, but intend to make up for it next. Well, that is if he ever speaks to me again after Mateo and his group of drunken mates turn up requesting tattoos of gecko’s, dolphins, stars and Pacha cherries.

Neil is going to hit the clubs of Asia and Slovenia in the company of superstar DJ, David Morales before going off to find himself. He did mention circumnavigating the earth in a coracle with Scratch his dog. Where do you start talking someone down from doing that? Hopefully the Ibiza madness will subside, and he’ll just climb a mountain again instead.

Sam has had a birthday this month, and as he is always reminding me that the newsletters are nearly always late, or is always nearly late? I will remind him that he will never be as old as me. Everybody else with a birthday and anniversary this month, many congratulations, I include Jake in this, it’s his birthday today and I have given him the day off. You see I can be merciful. Now I should be able to get away with buying him some useless gadget, like a pen or propelling pencil, as the wheels are already starting to come off Wolves season, they’ll be no need for the new away kit. He’d probably ritually burn it in a fit of pique whilst sticking pins in an effigy of Joey Barton.

Dorothee has been in to buy a “racy” burgundy knitted silk tie for hubby Colum. She didn’t know how to get a mention, so I took pity. Like so many of us she has been dealing with builders. Apologies to the builders amongst you, like retailers we know they are not all the same. Yes I know, in my case some are worse than others.

Now, I have to mention Jason from The Wolseley who has been unwell. In his absence Sara and the crowd have been masterful. Jason has lost weight and won’t mind me saying he looks better for it. It may have been the illness or the fact that the “Spring” in North Africa has moved north and his dictatorship is in peril. He has given up smoking and is worried that eating will be his only solace, when I thought just keeping the others in line should be stress enough. Secretly, or not so secretly as you all know now, he prints these out and I’m sure frames them for the smallest room in the house.

Anyway enough of Jason, my next target is the Maldives. According to James Delingpole and the Times Atlas they no longer exist. I thought this was self evident, they have been holding cabinet meetings underwater recently. Does this mean that Alan Duncan is going to have to stay out of the deep end? Personally I have been donning my Bacofoil suit to avoid the aliens and regularly commuting to Atlantis for years. From there the Maldives is just a short trip, and if I stay underwater the little green men won’t see me.

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.