June 2017 – A Newsletter of Sorts

Let’s begin with a little bit of business.

We are fast approaching Ferragosto where the whole of Italy disappears off like our politicians.

This means that our workrooms are also partly closed. Times are a changing and it is not as bad as years gone by, we can still make garments, it just takes a week or two longer. Somehow it has dawned on them that not everyone wants to take their holiday in August.

Newsletter:

Phew! What a scorcher.

Coffee consumption has doubled since 1980, I know mine has. I know, I know, I don’t look old enough. It’ll be all the coffee!

But the world of coffee is in turmoil, it is the third year in a row that consumption has exceeded production and the amount of land suitable for growing coffee is falling. Apparently this will reduce the quality of the coffee and the amount available. Should we blame gorgeous George for making coffee too ‘sexy’?

The numerous large coffee chains may reduce the number of beans in a cup to half a bean, and we will be grateful for it.

Luckily Theresa in her youth didn’t run through fields of Arabica, decimating the crop still further, she restricted her abandon for fields of wheat, creating crap circles and gluten intolerance.

At least we now know the answer to one of the world’s great mysteries, if only we could solve Fermat’s last theorem! What do you mean, we have! Damn that only leaves the riddle of the Pyramids…

You know when you’ve been warned not to do something, but you plough ahead relentlessly, Theresa had a 50/50 chance; and in her mind’s eye she would have changed her mind, but she went ahead and stuck with her original choice anyway.

Statistically you are likely to be more successful, having changed your mind, to follow that through rather than stick. Pay heed Theresa you were warned!

Boris is round the back of the bike sheds at school, puffing happily on a cigar called Titus Andronicus. He, Govesie, Huntie and Double D, are donning wet suits, rolling balls of tissue, and barrelling out their straws. PMQ’s look as if they going to return to the ribald times of the Bullingdon Club.

Clad in their figure hugging, neoprene suits, they will snipe from the safety of deep water, like fourskin divers, sniggering at their endeavours.

The Opposition bench will be no better. JC will be living the ‘Thug Life’, his chest puffed out like a Great Tit, John McDonell toying with the balls of his abacus and a logarithmic ruler, trying to formulate the budget.

Hammers across the way uses a more modern method, the latest Sinclair Scientific calculator, pocket sized and great for those tricky little Brexit deals, it works off the ancient witchcraft known as ‘Reverse Polish Notation’.

Politics has returned to the Westminster village. But, what do I hear you screech in unison? They’re off on a Parliamentary recess.

The Government called a game of Russian Roulette, shot their little toe off and dallied around spending £130 million going to the country. Once again monumentally messing up an election/referendum they decide to slink off for the summer. So from the 20th July, the ‘Dream Team’ will be in charge.

I have given up re-writing parts of this! After the sixth draft, and the removal of references to Trotsky, Stalin, Mao, Thatcher, and at one point 46 expletives, I will build a pontoon bridge and move on!

At least we are without The Donald. He exists in the Fifth Dimension, the Twitter-sphere, in the Twilight Zone where the edge of the Flat Earth meets the sky. The Oval Office is his Pangea, his family gazelles and antelopes. He is the hyena, the jackal in the pack. No, I don’t where I’m going with this either; suffice to say I’m jet lagged, after spending weeks circumnavigating the earth. High on a mixture of sleeping tablets, Melatonin, Rhodiola Rosea and champagne, my thumbs are a blur.

Clearly I haven’t insulted Donald enough, as he let me in all so briefly, under the radar so to speak. I even travelled on Raoul’s passport by mistake! Not that I pass for a transgender, bald Brazilian (isn’t that the point?) with suspect facial hair…. Think Azis!

The regularity of these tomes has been a cause of mild concern in one or two of you. However, even by my standards I have been travelling a great deal, and unlikely to stop in the near future, and before anyone asks, not a single trip has been to Ibiza!

I sought to have my future explained to me in a reading of my tea leaves in Hong Kong.

“A panda walks into a restaurant, sits down and orders a sandwich. After he finishes eating the sandwich, the panda pulls out a gun and shoots the waiter, and then stands up to go. “Hey!” shouts the manager. “Where are you going? You just shot my waiter and you didn’t pay for your sandwich!”

The panda yells back at the manager, “Hey man, I am a PANDA! Look it up!”

The manager opens his dictionary and sees the following definition for panda: “A tree-dwelling marsupial of Asian origin, characterised by distinct black and white colouring. Eats shoots and leaves.”

I will blame Darren!

Currently, I am writing this on an inflatable flamingo in the middle of the Bristol Channel, basking in Mediterranean heat and floating gently towards Hinkley Point. The umbrella in my cocktail is acting as my dongle, the water around me is about the same colour as my drink, which is worrying no matter which way round you look at it! I had decided to spend a few days in the presence of my mother.

She is on tip-top form and we once again enjoyed a lovely meal at Reeves in Dunster.

https://www.reevesrestaurantdunster.co.uk/

I shall leave with a couple of photos, one a photo of the largest wedding cake I have ever seen. We made the groom his suit in an unlined wool and mohair blend to cope with the Florentine heat, the bride is the daughter of a great friend, my very best wishes to the happy couple, Riccardo and Carlotta, my apologies for not being there.

And a panorama, because everyone loves a panorama. These are the Red Rocks on Hvar.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Updated!!!!! – December Newsletter 2015 – Io Sono Amore

Io Sono Amore, I am Love.

An admirer sent me a film for Christmas.

Yes I do have an admirer. OK, OK, they are more of a stalker, but beggars can’t be choosers, and after Siri and Cortana anything is a bonus, but they did keep me company whilst updating to Windows 10.

Apparently in my apricot cashmere sweater I look like Tilda Swinton in the aforementioned film!!! Are you blind?

I am starting to get very worried, I suppose it could be worse, I could be the bunny in Fatal Attraction when I’d rather be dancing with Jessica Rabbit, or cuddled up under a throw with Pussy Galore.

If you are not interested in football, go off and make a cup of green tea now. Yes, I know it’s the written word so this will still be here when you get back, soldier on it’s not that bad.

Woe betide anyone who ventures across my path, Zoro has my back. Poor little Sepp appeared for his press conference sporting what could have been a duelling scar, or a souvenir from Saint Nick who takes no prisoners with the bad boys this time of year.

No one slaps me on the cheek with a white kid glove and gets away with it! On the other hand it could have been the spoke of an umbrella wielded by a very small person associated with Michel ‘The Bulgar’ Plantini. However as Sepp ‘The Mushroom’ is still with us, we will have to assume the former.

Zoro

Zoro

Player power seems to be putting an end to managerial careers here, there and everywhere. Jose, poor Jose, and Luis Van Gaal, both appear to be suffering or have suffered from this ague. To give you a special insight into the everyday struggles in their world I managed to sneak into the Chelsea dressing room, and the Manchester United car park to see what has been going on.

It has been suggested that Simon Cowell is being lined up by Roman to replace Jose in the long term, make-up artists to replace club doctors and Julio Iglesias will take over from Rafa Benitez at Real Madrid, “When I begin, the beguine…….”

Chelsea?

Chelsea?

 

Stretford End?

Stretford End?

Then there is the referee Howard Webb, who said that there were fewer poor decisions made by referees on Boxing Day because they were chauffeured to their games. So not having to make a decision whether to turn left or right on their way to the game meant they were less stressed and improved their performance. I refer to my earlier posts about referees and as Aristotle said, ‘Quod erat demonstrandum’.

Now we need to spare a thought for young Luke Jake. It’s not about the parlous state of things at Wolves which we will gloss over using a matt finish, but about his attempt in true ‘Likely Lads’ fashion to avoid any mention of what might have happened in Star Wars XXIII, ‘The Force goes back to sleep again’.

He’s been walking round for weeks wearing noise cancelling headphones customized to look like antlers, and if by some terrible twist of fate he’s not had them on, just at the mere mention of his name, Luke Jake has stuck his fingers in his ears and started singing La, La, La as if he were Naughty Boy.

He has now seen the film, he seems much calmer.

I have been a busy boy, and, please don’t choke on your Corn Flakes. By ‘boy’ I mean it as a turn of phrase, not that I view myself as such. Although between the ‘potions’ and the silken hands of Raoul my therapist, I resemble a young Liberace!

I have been circumnavigating the globe, Florence, Bologna and Hong Kong, in a week. So Sam, dry your eyes I now have enough miles for a free latte in Waitrose.

Hong Kong

Hong Kong

Hong Kong was a ‘Coals to Newcastle’ trip, to catch up with several VIPs, see Chic and Niles Rodgers, rub Udderbelly, and see the Anthony Gormley sculptures. It was short, intense and fun.

Chic

Chic

All set for a little cocktail party in my suite, and some dealings with the Carnie Folk.

Martini

Martini

Macaroons

Macaroons

I would like to thank everyone at The Landmark Mandarin Oriental for their magnificent hospitality and incredible levels of service, which all made it a very enjoyable and successful trip.

I will be back….

Apologies to anybody who got a scarf  for Christmas, that was way off. I have spent the Christmas period sporting a production sample of our new ‘Rudolph Mankini’, complete with red nose.

Top 10 presents I was made aware of this Christmas:

1: Dry Stone wall building course.

2: A delivery bike for a Volpe be-suited friend whose job it is to deliver his wife’s exotic, baked creations to cafes around our great metropolis.

3: A month’s adoption of a Mayfly for September!

4: A second eighth of a Cow, which made it a quarter.

5: A pint of double cream, because apparently he always forgets to buy it for the Christmas pudding.

6: Also a recipe for Bubble ‘n Squeak, sorry, sorry, a signed copy of Macbeth. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and caldron bubble…. Back to the Premiership I see.

7: A Fashion Magazine in Chinese for an 11 year old nephew.

8: The Sepp close shave, heal that nick kit!

9: A new songwriter for Robbie Williams. I know, who he?

10: A new pair of spectacles for a football referee, according to Luke Jake it’s any of them.

11: A scarf?

As always I like to help a friend, and he offered me the car in exchange for this little uplift, I’m now headed for the Manchester United car park!

http://verticalproductions.co.uk/portfolio-items/new-audi-r8-v10-promo-2015/

As you all wonder how these get written, here is a further insight into my wonderful world. I’d like to thank Lyle Lovett for writing some of my favourite lyrics, and for showing that anything is possible; he was after all married to Julia Roberts.

If I had a boat I’d sail out on the ocean, and if I had a pony I’d ride it on my boat.

 

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

June 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

This is a long one. Best to get that out of the way to begin with!

So much has happened this month. My, my, haven’t you all been so busy. It must mean the economy is on the way back, or you’ve all got so bored that some of you are actually doing something, asides from working.

Anyway, my plan was to meet up with Sam in the Cathay Lounge at Heathrow, we’d start drinking and continue until we were scraped onto the tarmac in Hong Kong. And if Mark had come along, we may never have survived the flight. Oh well, best laid plan of mice and men. Sam changed his plans and has headed for Paris. However, on the slight chance we both are in Hong Kong at the same time, we will try and do something en famile…

OK, slight problem, should I start again or just continue? Sam didn’t go to Paris, we are on the same flight, but as of yet we haven’t started drinking. I think we’ll take it easy and relax and catch up. We’re both going to have some work to do, and how else am I going to get the newsletter out? It is great to have Sam along, even if it’s so he can’t complain that it may be late. At least this time it might be his fault!!!

Anyway, I’m on the plane and only 11 hours to save the world! OK, OK to write the newsletter. It’s just that the former sounds so much more dramatic, and you know how I like a drama. And now the damn seat is broken, it’s completely flat and I’ve got to go and stand in the galley whilst they try to fix it at 2am, in the dark, with a toothpick. I should be catching up on my beauty sleep, wrapped up in my duvet, in my own individual little booth.

What am I doing in Hong Kong? I hear you all ask in unison.

Am I standing on top of a tall building in a typhoon? No really, you should see the video. A typhoon No. 8 signal passed through, so after dinner we strolled up onto the roof at David Tang’s Bank of China Restaurant to watch the passing typhoon. I was Batman to Hong Kong’s Gotham City. Oh, Adrian do get over yourself and the fantasy world in which you live.

No really; working is my response. Not to find new suppliers, as someone cruelly suggested. I am doing this for a friend who trusts my judgement. He has asked me out here to make suits for his wedding.  Mountain brought to Mohamed, perhaps. Fool? Clearly, but I won’t have a word said against him, and his fiancé has made it clear that she thinks I’m completely mad or worse. We’ve met, only the once, and since then she has avoided me. It was the pale blue suede jacket for a stag weekend he was going to in Ibiza that did it, very “Miami Vice”. Well it would, wouldn’t it?

I did put him Neil’s way if he was in need of a tattoo. Talking of Neil, there was a picture of him and Scratch (his faithful canine companion) on Facebook, sunning themselves on a beach. He said he was only there a couple of hours, but I did notice a darker hue to his skin whilst chatting on Skype. He can still be such a rebel. I shall try to get there at some point and have my name engraved somewhere so I don’t forget who I am. Neil doesn’t do “shades”, nothing beats a good glare, and Neil can glare with the best of them. Sometimes I think he really enjoys scaring prospective customers by staring at them, or it might be a test. If they can withstand his withering glance, then they are able to the pain that will follow as he wields his needle!

Sadly Neil will be in London this weekend, at some celeb wedding or other. So we will miss each other. He will arrive with Ryanair, and stay in a tent in a field, I will not. He didn’t like that. I didn’t realise he was getting married.

I was in Florence 2 weeks ago for Pitti Uomo, a menswear trade fair. Given my comments about the state and price of accommodation there in the past, I was pleasantly surprised. OK, I happened to be staying there at the same time as Madonna, who I must say made a real pest of herself, by knocking on my door all hours of the day and night, a la Peter Cook and Dudley Moore.

I stayed in a very inexpensive bed and breakfast called Relais del Duomo. It was great, even though it was 36C outside, I didn’t even need to use the air conditioning! Clean and tidy, central and importantly very quiet, well apart from the bells of the Duomo. Really, if I want to be woken at that time I have Sunil. He, who lives in a different time zone to the rest of the world, compiled of 24 hours of work and 1 hour of sleep. Except Sunil don’t live int shoebox int middle ot road (Yorkshire accent). I normally set the alarm to wake me, but Sunil can be guaranteed to pre-empt it by at least a couple of hours.

Now I have a recommendation for you if you are travelling to Florence, it is a restaurant called “Trattoria Gabriello” and it is in via della Condotta. The owner Rita is wonderful. It seems to be one of the few original trattorias left in the centre, and at least there were some locals eating there, and not just infested by tourists like myself. I’m a snob like that, always a tourist, never a traveller. I ate there on Tuesday and the food is simple, and well cooked. She was being helped by her best friend Alessandra. We should all have friends like Alessandra, she took the time to talk to, and make everyone feel very welcome, whilst helping Rita because she wants to. Perhaps “Ale” is not the best waitress in the world, but she has other skills, she says she is working on her English, I feel, that with a little practice she’ll be fine. She also says she is a great driver, the scar on her forehead and the photo of her “totalled” Porsche on her phone may tell a different story!

Dear Michael was in Italy at the same time as part of his gardening leave. He went to Naples to see some friends and improve his Italian. We would chat by text, his main preoccupations appeared to be the heat, and why he wasn’t going brown. The feet of an albino cadaver were the words he used on the day before he left. However, I feel the highlight of his trip was the fact that these feet and his legs made a cameo appearance alongside Rod Stewart and Penny Lancaster in the Daily Mail, now only if they lived next door to him, what treats would lie in store for them!

Michael also has a very sweet tooth, but he is a cheap choccie kind of man, more “Fruit & Nut” than “Charbonnet and Walker”, and that says more about Michael than you can imagine. But he arrived back in London clutching a box of chocolates for us from a shop in Naples called “Gay Odin”. As Gillian said, I’m not sure what the Norse God’s reaction to being called gay would be.

Now in every box of chocolates, there is always one! This box, full of Michael’s specially selected goodies contained the worst chocolate I have ever tasted. Each of us who tasted it, curious to the others reaction, was the same. It was made of dark chocolate, so no problem there, but when you bit into it, your mouth was filled with Brut 33. It tasted like the after shave and it smelt like the after shave, all that was missing was Henry Cooper saying “Go on son, stop coughing, it looks like you’ll splash it all over”.

In Italy they put liquers into all sorts of strange shaped bottles in order to trick you into buying them. Being from Naples I expected this chocolate to be filled with Limoncello, not Brut.

After reaching for and finding the wrong bottle to fill this handmade confection, perhaps Giacomo is out on a date somewhere, the faint smell of lemons upon his cheeks. I must ask Michael which he prefers.

And finally congratulations are in order to Eugenia for getting engaged, I know she will be very happy, and finally to Greg the “Cougar Magnet” as well. He has found someone younger to be with and Farah is beautiful. What did you put in her drink, I must try it myself…..

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

August 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the largest ever response to a newsletter: the tribute to my friend Richard Pulford.

There were so many kind memories and so many fond words. For this I thank all of you. Your words of comfort have been passed on to Richard’s family.

It’s that time of year when tumbleweed blows down London’s empty streets, and this year, I’m here instead of basting in Ibiza. Many of you have joked quite how much I don’t enjoy the Sale period, but you’d be wrong. It is important for me to quietly hide the mistakes I have made during the year.

Fortunately, I am learning, and after twelve long years there are only two pairs of the acid yellow cords left. Perhaps I could arrange a riot, a little looting, some lightning, and they might vanish off into the ether with my remaining stock of jeans. What else is August in London good for?

Anyway, Shane and family were here from Hong Kong (and at least his out of office reply meant he was coming to see me). And doesn’t he look boyish these days?  A new haircut and glasses in order to make him look more grown up? Perhaps I should explain to Katie (Shane’s wife) they have only made him look more angelic, although I’m not entirely sure it is a word I would normally use about Shane! They’re all off to some detox retreat in Ibiza but how detox and Ibiza go together I will wait to hear.

Ollie, who has also been in Ibiza, has just returned and he’s not happy. Left only with the clothes he was standing up in, he single-handedly boosted the Ibicencan economy, in order to feel that he fitted in at every event he was attending. He and his luggage parted company at City Airport on the way out, and were reunited only after his return to London.

The offending piece of luggage had visited seven European cities before its return, which is more than my wayward friend Mark will be doing with British Airways. Still barred, Mark continues to travel the world in search of new thrills. This leads him further and further afield, searching for a recently filled mini-bar and a maid that he hasn’t already unconsciously surprised in a strange and unusual way.

I have another friend who has taken to wearing glasses with normal lenses in order to lend him an air of intellect and gravitas. I’m not sure he wasn’t wearing specs before and has reverted to non-prescription lenses, because life through the correct prescription was just too frightening.

This year I have had to start wearing spectacles so I can thread a needle and it has added an entire new spectrum of accessories to my wardrobe. As you could predict with me, the collection is growing rapidly.

Soon I will have spex for every occasion. Perhaps even extra-spesh-spex that I will wear to choose which ones I will be wearing today or to look for the pair I’ve just put down or trodden on. I’m still searching for the pair that will make me look more brainy and more important. Andre calls it gravitas but he pronounces it in a vairy particular way every time we meet.

One or two of you are still trying so hard to get a mention: remember, actions always speak louder than words.

John kindly brought back a bottle of wine from Emanuele in Bologna, and Matthew sent me something made by Brasso to polish my gadgets. Oh, please!

But the prize is taken by the couple travelling to Venice on the Orient Express who were trapped in their cabin paralysed by OCD, only to be released once the number of railway sleepers they had counted exceeded the 1 million mark.

I sympathise, as I often feel I’m being followed, and the only way throw the stalker off the scent is to keep off the cracks in the pavement while shouting Macbeth. I have got used to people staring, but then, don’t they always?

However, let me finish on a positive note for Jake. Wolves have topped the table a few times already. The season is young, but Jake has handled his glee with maturity: the screaming and punching the air have been undertaken when customers are not present, or at least when he thinks they can’t see or hear.

If only he could share Mick McCarthy’s pragmatism, but that’s why Jake is a supporter and dreams of Europe next season. Sorry, buster, but if you think I’m giving time off to go to away games in Estonia, think again.

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

January 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

As we are well into January, how many of you made New Year resolutions? And did you keep them, stumble from the course, or fall spectacularly head first into the gutter?

So the iPad is perfect for my insomnia. I promised myself it wouldn’t take over my life, and yet here I am writing the newsletter on it. It just keeps me awake longer. OK, so I’ll sleep when I’m dead. You can spend the small hours searching for apps, most of which you’ll never use. But it means I can lie on the sofa tapping blindly at the screen, whilst watching the news in 15 minutes, every 15 minutes. So between 2.30am and 6.00am, I get to hear about Silvio’s Ruby blues 14 times, oh joy.

Now some of you have complained about the brevity of my January teaser. Shame on you, I had the VAT return to do, and some of you should know better. Yes Greg, I mean you. You begged to be on the mailing list only to complain bitterly that the teaser wasn’t long enough and then regularly bring your mother in to torture me. But what goes around comes around. She kindly explained how you had removed your trousers in front of an Upper Class Virgin, the words might be slightly jumbled, but worse was to follow: your mother mistaken for your Cougar? As you said, does she look younger, or do you look older?

Anyway back to Silvio, which seems the most unlikely side of him the Italians will see. It’s a case of the devil you know, but it appears that even Papa Razzi is starting to flag, or perhaps lose track of the indefatigable appetite of the diminutive ex cruiseship crooner. And I use the word diminutive with pride. I too, am diminutive. OK, I won that bet. I managed to use that word 3 times, so much for drinking games. I play them with decaff espresso shots (just ask Jake), rather than alcohol, just to keep me awake. It is rumoured that Kiefer used to play a similar game whilst filming 24, damn it Chloe! “I’ll have another Jack Daniels”, before wrestling a Christmas tree to the ground, trousers round his ankles. But he showed he was a gent, by offering to pay for the damage.

OK, it’s not quite in the league of Charlie Sheen, or my personal favourites Robert Downey Jr driving his Porsche naked and throwing imaginary rats out of the car, and my friend Martin snorkelling naked in the snow in Verbier, and yes there is photographic evidence. Guys, some of you have some serious catching up to do.

However I bumped into a friend, who we will call James (because that’s his name). I was leaving The Wolseley after a hearty breakfast with Don, a close friend who once nearly laid waste to Keira Knightley, but that’s another story. James was always a bit of a party animal and after having been “driven” in his Gallardo, driven been the description I will give the experience. James was in London for a 3 day bender, because:  “the bright lights of Geneva, just weren’t bright enough any more.” At this point he was starting to flag and was craving coffee and a large eggs Benedict, I could have stayed to see the outcome, but I just had to be somewhere else.

Like the drinking games, I could try to start each paragraph with a letter that in some special code would make a word. No, stop trying to work out some hidden meaning in mine, before long you’ll be trying to play your old LPs backwards in an attempt to conjure up the devil, and I left Silvio where he belongs, a couple of paragraphs ago. It’s 3.30am and I’m now too tired to even try and be clever. Settle down at the back. I know what you’re going to say and it’s neither clever nor funny.

Sam passed through London this week and managed to pop in for a few hours between flights.  Bangkok-London-Hong Kong back-to-back in less than three days. As you said mate, I wouldn’t normally use that expression, but he’s an Aussie, “living the dream”, or perhaps 11K a year and £2.60 an hour is just too tempting. Big up Willie Walsh and the new cabin crew contract. There you go, guys, I got your protest vote in.

As you know, I have been in Bologna. It is still the best city in Italy to eat in. However each day I took the train into Florence for the Pitti Uomo trade fair. A mere 35 minutes or that’s what they tell you, not quite time keeping to Swiss standards. In four journeys, no less than 10 minutes late each time, but as my friend Fabio told us over lunch, it’s the Italian way. Rome to Milan in three hours, or at least in three Italian hours, because it’s a matter of pride that it just has to be 3 hours.

At Drogheria della Rosa Emanuele did us proud. Greeted like long lost friends, fed and watered within the limits of my waistband. After Sunday lunch we staggered to the airport clutching a white truffle. Emanuele has made his special kind of dining experience: his food, wine and company of the highest order, all rounded off with a semifreddo. Excuse me, titter ye not, did I hear Frankie Howerd?

Product of the month is the X-mini speaker, which I use for my iPad. Jake’s bored with this, but they are awesome and I suspect he’s slightly envious.

June 2010 – Volpe Newsletter

We wuz robbed, I tell you. And I’m not talking about the Budget, of which more later.

Like Don Fabio, I’ll brook no dissent. Mi casa, my rules. We were much the better side. Just look at the statistics and you know my thoughts on that.

Apparently Capello sent the team on to the pitch with the rousing cry: ‘Let’s make English football history.’ I feel that got lost in translation.

It seems even Paul the psychic octopus from the Sea Life Aquarium predicted a German win. Yeah, well let’s see how he fares against Spain where they like fried squid rings.

But as I said we were so much the better side; even my wife agrees and as I know by now, she is never wrong.

There was a moment during England’s nail-biting journey to oblivion on Sunday night when she shouted: ‘Lamps’ at the TV.

I share Don Fabio’s dislike of infantile footballing nicknames, and unless she was describing what she wanted Fat Frank to do to the assistant referee, then divorce beckons if she ever uses such a word again. And I’ll sue for alimony if she says Wazza.

Still, there are upsides to Sunday’s match.

The WAGs were waiting until this week to go out so no pictures of them shopping and falling off bar stools.

And the James Corden’s World Cup Party may be in for an early bath which means an end to the canvassing of opinions of such football geniuses a Pixie Lott by a smug fat bloke in a suit two sizes too small for him. I’m with Patrick Stewart there.

As you know at the end of May I visited Rome again. This time it was just for the day to visit a shoe wholesaler who refused to deal with me over the phone or via email. What strange world we live in. It’s right up there with: ‘The donkey’s sick, so I can’t get the parcel to the UPS office.’ Yes, a supplier has used that excuse. However it wasn’t an entirely wasted trip, I ate a decent lunch and spent some of the day with one of my best friends Max Pietrolucci, and even did a little sightseeing.

However a journey I will be making this month will be back to Ibiza. Those of you who think I have a home there, sorry to disappoint, and if I did, no you couldn’t use it. Also for those of you who have attempted to photograph me under the influence of something that isn’t wheatgrass, waving glo sticks like a five year old would sparklers, again you’ll be disappointed. Neil “the tattooist” has informed me that he will go back to doing stars, geckos, dolphins etc, because as yet I have not agreed to have the roof of the Sistine Chapel in miniature on my back. He has also offered both Eugenia and Carla summer jobs as his receptionist, and I don’t believe it, they are contemplating accepting. Now Eugenia has “previous” for this kind of arrangement. All I can say to her is remember what happened last time.

Not that I’m not going to dwell on it but yesterday’s referee Jorge Larrionda also has “previous” for “over the line” incidents. In 2004 he deprived Brazil of a winner so they drew 0-0 with Colombia in a World Cup qualifier. He once told an interviewer “I hope I never see the day when technology arrives that can help or replace the job I do”. Also in 2002 he was suspended by Uruguay’s FA for unspecified alleged irregularities that meant he was unable to officiate at the 2002 World Cup. Not that I’m bitter.

A thank you is due to Matthew who bought me some chocolates back from Bologna, a kind and unnecessary gesture, but he is a kind and thoughtful chap. I thought he’d go far, but then flattery and presents always bring out the best in me. The latest 3D gadgets wouldn’t go amiss.

This month we also lost Sam to Hong Kong once more. The family soon to follow and I must admit I will miss Xavier’s Saturday morning attempts to total the Ferrari. Sam and Claire be warned, let him loose with a Playstation before he gets his hands on the real thing. The new Test Drive game will be based in Ibiza, so next year it will be full of kids, driving dad’s Nissan Micra lit from underneath with blue neon, ear splitting music blaring from open windows. So nothing will really change. Oh dear, I do sound old.

Now, my friend who has admitted in the past that he was a suit short of a week still is according to him. He feels that a racy little linen number to complete his collection of linens would fit the bill. Not that I want to turn away business or condemn excess in any way, because that would be commercial suicide. I just don’t think that he’s likely to have five consecutive days of sunshine in this country. Apologies, this week has proved me wrong, but mark my words it won’t last.

The customer is king has always been my motto; or one of them. Maybe I’ll make a list of my mottos and add them to next month’s newsletter.

So were you a winner or loser in the Budget – or more accurately, a loser or a really big loser?

I’m still mulling it over so I’ll hand over to Sheherazade Goldsmith, the gorgeous ex-wife of billionaire Zac, newly-minted MP for Richmond.

It would be vulgar to speculate on the sheer tonnage of Mrs Goldsmith’s divorce settlement but it’s clear that even she feels some belt-tightening is in order.

‘If you grow your own raspberries, pick them and make them into jam, it’s a very satisfying feeling,’ she said recently.

‘Much more satisfying than buying it from Fortnum & Mason.’

A sentiment with which we can all agree, and as English as a World Cup defeat.

For those of you who have asked about my mystery “celebrity”. Well, he is currently staying on at the World Cup owing to a promotional role. I felt it would be too cruel to ask which particular animal he would be dressed as, but it would certainly need to be one of the veldt’s larger inhabitants, if only to accommodate his ego. He has been muttering about how poor Brien Blessed’s contribution has been, well at least his voice will be heard above the vuvuzelas.

 

Copyright © 2010 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.