So let’s open this month with the closure of the transfer window.

You could say a window closes only for a trapdoor to open to others, and a ‘lock in’ for one David who has met his De Goliath. For some it’s been the dream of a lifetime, but it’s seems for a few it has been a coat of technicolour nightmares.

The sums of money involved may only buy a small pied-a-terre in Clapham, and apparently this is where David de Gea will be spending his season after getting his foot trapped in the revolving door that is the transfer window.

Perhaps Real Madrid misunderstood the mañana culture, and thought tomorrow was another day.

United now have more goalkeepers than strikers, Chelsea have… Well no-one of any consequence, OK, OK a donkey called Pedro, and are the fans falling out of love with Jose?

A friend has stopped sleeping in her onesie such is her displeasure, and she loved Jose, a love that she hoped that would endure beyond Christmas, as a manger is not just for Christmas. Manchester City have already won the title now they have disposed of Edin Djecko.

So far, I have not mentioned one English player or coach in that last little histoire.

So spare a thought for the youth of today, because children are our future, a good example being Miles Storey. Who he? You might ask. Born and raised in West Bromwich, not the greatest start in life, but the under-19 England International who doesn’t seem to have been able to get his feet under a breakfast table anywhere. Out on loan at Salisbury City, Shrewsbury Town, Portsmouth, Newport County, but no Village Hall side, he has now been loaned to footballs equivalent of Siberia, Inverness Caledonian Thistle. He’s not even the club doctor! Proving that being a professional footballer isn’t all about the glamour!

Perhaps he could join the 9 sperm donors at Britain’s Sperm Bank, by all accounts they are all referees, well you know how the song goes.

Our bank is sorely lacking in donors since the law was changed so that the identity of the donor can be disclosed. Back to the song!

We are being encouraged to do it the way the Danish do it; what do they do differently?They proudly say, this is the Viking invasion, exports from Denmark are beer, Lego and sperm. It’s a source of pride.

They left out bacon and associated pork products, and I am reminded of Rebecca Loos. At least the French only replaced steak with horse meat. Think of the Danish consequences!

We are surrounded by the titans of Northern Europe. The Danes and their banking system, the Germans and their sausages and the grandest saveloy of them all Vladimir Putin.

A small group of scientists are holed up in a cabin inside the Arctic Circle, trapped by an aurora of Polar Bears walking around growling outside, not a laughing matter, the scientists are only armed with only a flare gun and ‘pooh sticks’, which has not struck the fear of God into the bears.

However the scientist’s plight is about to get worse. It’s a slow news day in Russia, and Vlad has seen another photo opportunity to raise his masculinity to new heights, he is headed off to save the scientists and wrestle shirtless with the Polar Bears.

Goodness, I hope none of the bears are Gay, you know Vlad’s thoughts on that, and Darren’s bear hunting joke. It’s just reminded me of the end of the film ‘Trading Places’!

I have been away for a few days, not my usual Ibiza month long Party, Party, Party. I spent this time meditating in solitude, high in the hills in Mallorca. My monastic existence involved me walking down to a “beach” on a spur of land called Foradada, 5km away and 450m below.

I donned my aged and trusty Five Fingers, and headed out. Down and down through the lush pine forest I descended, the dusty, pebbled path in 35C heat was quite pleasant, but the Five Fingers weren’t ideal for this.

After nearly an hour I arrived at the cove, to find quite a large restaurant. Lunch I thought. I asked the waiter if there was room for a solitary, weary traveller. “I’m sorry Sir, we are fully booked, but you can have a drink at the bar”, he replied. I was slightly taken aback, I’m pretty fit and although I do possess some Super-Human powers (see last newsletter), it was a tough walk down, but was going to be a much tougher walk back after lunch. How were they going to fill all those tables?

“All our clients arrive by boat”, he explained.

Invigorated by a coffee and a beer, I decided I would jog back to the top!

http://www.saforadada.com

After my physical exertions, I descended onto the flatter parts of the island in search further peace and quiet, and one of my favourite vinicolas, 4Kilos in Felatnitx. They produce a fabulous red wine called 12 Volts.

Then it was onto Pollenca to discuss with our decorator the required elements for the new cycling venture we are preparing as Winter base for you all. Perhaps ‘Team Volpe’ will soon be rivalling Sky?

Later that day I wandered along a white, sandy beach, turquoise water to my right…….hundreds of yards of nature ists to my left! My karma was left in tatters, why is it those who shouldn’t be, are?

I escaped into Palma to have dinner with Ivan, Alvaro and Lara. Ian and Lara have set up a lovely Vinoteca in Carrer de Pou, called ‘Wine Industry’, stocked with predominantly local wines and great food. I have known Ivan and Alvaro for many years, form the heady days of Guaraña at Salinas, when Alvaro was a hairdresser! Private joke at Ivan’s expense, and when Martin watching was all the girls favourite pastime. It was like watching dominoes turning as he strode along the beach.

Earlier in the month I embarked upon a Roman Holiday. Well I wandered down to Somerset House with friends and lay on the cold cobbles to watch the film.

Beneath brooding skies.

And that is my last word on our summer. Blink and you’ll miss it!

I shall end with my 10 favourite collective nouns:

1: A class of students

2: A mob of kangaroos

3: A murder of lawyers

4: A wad of bills

5: A phantasmagoria of phantoms

6: A shrivel of critics

7: A flight of stairs

8: An illusion of magicians

9: A den of thieves

10: A disguising of tailors

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.