Raising the Titanic….

Posted on June 24, 2020 by volpeadrian

Finally, Boris has found the key to the chastity belt.

Apparently, the hinges are a little rusty, but nothing a little libation and lubrication won’t attend to.

By all accounts, the key was with the remote control, hair clippers, and his droite de seigneur, down the side of the sofa in Downing Street. Let’s hope he also bagged and binned that tissue.

It’s that the sort of behaviour that affects your eyesight, no wonder dirty Dom had a spin around Barnard Castle, and as for Matt Han… I will leave you, to finish that. Anything unintelligible in Latin will do.

And it looks like it’s all to do with the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing, especially if you have been sitting on your hands all this time… Pass the Dutchie on the left-hand side. That was the music of my youth.

Early on, my dreams of a ‘speakeasy’ were dashed, not even shaken or stirred, I could serve nothing but neat hemlock, and not a dash of Angrystrura bitters here!

I am yet to use Zoom, but I did have a Fab, something I hadn’t enjoyed since the seventies, and I have sat down at the weekends to share dinner with friends from all over Europe via WhatsApp and Facetime, whilst Zoom numbers have soared from 300,000 users to 13 million in May.

In the main we have all been so virtuous, there has been the odd slip, but for some nothing that a trip to the dentist won’t sort. It is fortunate that the roads have been so quiet. All I want for Christmas, is my two front teeth… and yet his belle has found this look rather fetching. His playing of the Harmonica remains unaffected.

There is another good and very supportive friend, who might be surprised to find himself here. He has both past and present dated many beautiful women, even a mermaid… or so the photos would suggest, and then, there was the Unicorn… lest we speak about that the better it is for all of us. I put it down to his generosity of spirit, I raise a full glass in your direction.

One or two of you have continued to swipe left or right, and, there were the ones that got away, but two metres have now become one, if you measure success that way.

I have appeared on the far side, eyes blinking at the sun… I should be in Ibiza now, celebrating birthdays and the summer solstice.

But reports of vast, past illegal raves are starting to circulate. Near to Stonehenge they have found evidence of previous giant Government infrastructure projects, big spending on a huge scale. It appears to be a tool to stimulate the Neolithic economy during a depression, digging a great big hole and filling it in again. Yet these were never filled in apart from a few of those little silver bottles… Clearly not biodegradable.

I’m sure that life during the Neolithic period wasn’t a bowl of cherries, and if you have ever shared a room with a person on a ‘Paleo Diet’ you’ll know what that’s like. We all need a way to escape.

Let’s hope that Boris’s attempts to stimulate will be more successful in finding the G7spot…

Finally, a note of caution for all those of you who have shopped in Supermarkets over the lockdown… A Japanese checkout worker memorised the credit card details of hundreds of customers, and then used them to fund a lavish lifestyle… He’s a bit late on the scene, I’ve been doing it for years, how do you imagine these newsletters get written…

OK,Ok! You do get something in return!

Interview with a vampire

Posted on May 6, 2020 by volpeadrian

Firstly, a big thank you to Neil from Inkadelic Tattooing in Ibiza for the reminder of the sunsets I am missing.

Sat on his terrace looking at the sun going down, on the first real day of freedom that he has known in weeks.

Lockdown has been a good discipline for me. Isolation in particular. No one to bother me, the shop silent and undisturbed, my bed of Transylvanian earth to comfort me.

In the late 11^th Century I was living in Minehead; Mynheafdon as it was then known, and I would often meet our friendly landowner, generally as he toured his estate on horseback. The horse was always a little jittery around me, and yet there was a familiarity about EAlfgar, the Earl of Mercia, as if I had seen him before.

It was a likeness, something around the eyes, and as a vampire you remember faces, eyes; and necks in particular. Past faces often appeared as I dreamt, vivid memories, not haunting, but their puzzled faces looking at me as if searching for a reason. It was in one such dream that she appeared, as I had originally seen her years before.

That first time, she was astride a horse riding through Coventry clad only in her long hair. I was a tailor at the time, and the shop was shuttered that day to allow her to ride through the streets, unseen. However, from behind the shutters I had stolen a glance, mesmerised by the shape of her neck I hatched a plan to visit her after nightfall, she could be one of us, one of the twelve…

But, where would we be without coincidences? EAlfgar was her son, and she Lady Godiva! The tailor who stole a glance, was apparently, Tom, ‘Peeping Tom’!

These days I am out early in the mornings, and yes, I know that as a vampire I should be destroyed by the sun’s light, however like hangovers and due to some strange, genetic twist of fate, I remain unaffected.

Sadly, I am unable to fly at the moment, and it’s best that I don’t morph into a bat at this most difficult time for these delightful creatures. I use the quieter times of the day when there are fewer people, mainly so I’m not overwhelmed by temptation, it is much easier to eat when there is a chance I might not be disturbed. It’s not as though what I crave can be delivered by Deliveroo or Uber Eats…

I meander over past hunting grounds far from home. Hampstead Heath, Alexandra Palace, Highgate Cemetery, and the Parkland Walk which is London’s unsung highline, and in my opinion a much better version than the one in New York.

It’s not just exercise, but also to check that none of my past indiscretions have resurfaced, even along the canal. It is now so quiet and still, that you can see all the way to the bottom, scooters, Boris bikes, toilet seats and dozens of traffic cones… nothing to implicate or incriminate me.

Once lockdown has come to an end, I will return to the silence of Arizona and my home in Roden Crater. This year I will rest, take the opportunity to eat in a healthier fashion and save my energy for next year when Burning Man returns and I can make the journey to the big party in Black Rock City…

By then, it might may be business as usual… as if it never was!

Coffee Table Deliveries… and other stories

Posted on May 14, 2019 by volpeadrian

EAT ME, DRINK ME, READ ME…

New stock at the end.

I have been told that this newsletter is turning into my travels around the world in what appears to be far, far longer than 80 days… Pish, you’ve only just noticed!

However, I will have you know that I do work, despite your painless barbs. Painless? Yes, because of the vast amounts of time I have spent lazing around in the sun, I have the skin of a Rhino.

In my profession you do well to remember that a stitch in time saves nine…

And, as I sit here, I am gently warming the soles of my feet on Hades’s hot coals. Evidently a cushy life is not without its sacrifices; this also involves keeping you all entertained every day of the week. Yes, matinees and evensong! That candle is lit at both ends, and Lil’ Kim is holding the blue touch paper.

Those of you that have visited the crypt of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome, will know where a great many of my skeletons are buried, they delightfully sculpted into works of art, perhaps depicting the events, but I say most, but not all.

Last weekend in Ibiza I was confronted with a problem, a dilemma, a cube of Rubik proportions, and, yes. Not for the first time!

Neil had ‘bought’ a coffee table.

As many of you may recall, Neil was also instrumental in tattooing many pairs of shoes over the years, bespoke designs, sometimes letting his creative juices flow, with a dexterity that mere mortals could only envy, a wild smile across his face, the gold tooth glittering in the moonlight… only the whine of the tattoo machine breaking the silence…

Apologies, my creative juices had started to flow. As I have matured these moments of dysfunction have become more common, and from time to time I have had to resort to chemical or homeopathic remedies to finish the newsletter. Apparently these are now available in most well-known chemists… You can’t walk past a window these days without these diamonds of delight being thrust in your face, and I only went in for party hats!

Back to the problem, or moving from one to another? Neil lives high up in Ibiza old town where the air is thin, beyond The Wall, surrounded by massive stone ramparts, and the closest we could get with a van was about 80 metres away. The table was a huge lump of wood, made from the trunk of a tree in the Whispering Wood, weighing in at nearly 250kgs it had to be transported up the last 40 medieval stone steps.

We stood around in the early morning sun, sipping a Kingslayer, a Red Priestess, enjoying the view of the Seven Kingdoms, as far as the White Harbour and the Bite, discussing our various wounds, aches and pains of battle, we evaluated the options. Should we use drugs, apologies… rugs, rollers, ties, a crane, hydraulic lifters, a pendulum, a YouTube tutorial, the infinite monkey theorem, aliens, dragons?

Without ‘The Mountain’, a Leonardo or a Galileo between us, we decided to apply the principle of Occam’s Razor, meaning; ‘that the simplest solutions are preferable to complex ones.’ So, we put down our cocktail glasses, picked a corner each and onwards and upwards we struggled. After a great deal of grunting, to meing, and to youing, your end up a bit, your end down a bit, we made it.

Thus, proving that logic, and a heuristic solution, not forgetting a little brawn and Mutual Aid are a match for Superficial Intelligence! Those on high would do well to listen…

Please forgive me, for I know what I am about to do… my apologies!

But that’s how on the second to last day of my weekend away, the motley crew that carried the coffee table up the steps of the old town, ended up sitting in a row at 10 in the morning sipping ice cold Bohemian style beer supplied by the hardest tattooist that ever stuck a needle in anyone’s arm. It lasted 20 minutes that beer-break, and for those twenty minutes we felt like free men.

Cotton Polo Shirts – Short Sleeve £150

Our classic Linen Polo Shirt – £150

Contrast Collar Polo Shirt – £135

A newsletter to herald the beginning of Autumn – September 2017

Posted on September 1, 2017 by volpeadrian

Beelzebub asked me to step forward and take up a new role as an influencer, which means I get to test lots of free things and write about them. The upside is that you know this means all the ‘millennials’ are going to hell.

My dream job, but, hang on, hadn’t I being do that all these years, isn’t this why you all want to come back as me; has my work gone unappreciated by the ‘Dark Lord’?

‘Ungrateful’ is the only printable word I can come up with, a ten letter word in a nine letter game.

For years I have been successfully leading you all astray, with a collection of the Emperor’s finest new clothes, and now ‘He’ says he wants me to influence you. Pah. May he burn in the fires of hell, along with his six brothers!

You want a piece of me, exactly mate you, and whose family?

Step outside the gates of the dark web and we’ll see who is boss.

Anyway they’ve been way too busy, the seven princes have infested the Premier League, Costa, Sanchez, Aguero, Ozil, Coutinho, Mahrez and Vardy have spread unrest and dissent amongst the ranks of the faithful.

Several of them have got their fingers trapped in the transfer window as it closed, that’s got to hurt! They’ll now all be sulking around for the next 4 months blowing on them until the portal opens once more, meanwhile their harbingers are wandering round with begging bowls the size of the dish at the Arecibo Observatory, which just so happens to be the size of 30 football pitches.

Arsene Wenger has once more shown he is suffering from ‘Martyr Complex’, ‘the belief that as a martyr he has been singled out for persecution because of exceptional ability or integrity’! My good friend Tony describes football as theatre for the working class, he’s so existential.com.

Along with the new football season we have heralded in autumn, cooler nights, the harvest, SAD lamps, it won’t be good enough to set your smartphone screen to the highest setting, pumpkins, and Tressemay might be caught clod hopping through fields of wheat, searching for a five bar gate.

Behind her trying to resolve the revolving Brexit negotiations, the five have hopped over a stile and are off to Smuggler’s Top via Castaway Hill. Giggling and squabbling, DD, BJ, Foxy, Pretty P and Amber with her ruddy complexion have gone off in search of the drinks cabinet and lashings of ginger bear, or more likely pink gin.

Playa del Muro

Anyways, back to my role as an influencer. As you well know I have been going to Ibiza for an age, please don’t ask it’s not polite, but this year I have been sunning myself on Mallorca, momentarily waiting for someone to let some of the air out of Ibiza’s tyres, before it really does turn into the Las Vegas of Europe. I stayed in two beautiful family run small hotels, in both the service and food were impeccable and with fantastic pools:

http://www.canmoio.com/en/

Can Moio

and

http://hortdecasmisser.com/

Driverless cars – The future

Cata at Can Moio and Cristina at Hort de cas Misser were both wonderful hosts, and both places offer very different rural environments.

Nature Reserve at Playa del Muro

I am about to be controversial, but as an influenza I think those big ole bushy beards are about to catch a cold. I know; I know you’ll say I’ve had it in for them all along, but by next summer everyone will have chins more like Peter Perfect.

Have I turned into a news junkie, I can feel a rising panic, life on earth is to be threatened by a shower of comets and meteors caused by the beautiful Gisele 710. How could something with such a balletic name threaten our lovely planet, perhaps by an act of love she will free us from the grasp of this evil and Albrecht will defend us from the Wilis with his mighty sword… Sorry stopped to breathe into a paper bag for a moment… I was hyperspacing!

Phew, finally read the article to the end, it’s OK apparently it’s not going to happen for another 1.3 million years and by then I’ll be ready retire anyway, I’m sure skin treatments will have moved on and I won’t need to put my face on the ironing board.

There’s a good chance by then that Donald may have tripped over the end of his long red tie and stumbled onto the nuclear button, or Lil’ Kim may have nuked the bloke who cuts his hair, it’s a work of art according to my good friend Raoul, who well versed in these things. By all accounts the bowl they cut round to get this shape from can only be found deep in the Amazon and it is used to prepare hallucinogenic compounds, however it seems it is available for Prime delivery!!

A panorama what a surprise and the church I found there.

Looking over Pollenca

Church up there

A nudge is as good as a wink!

Posted on August 3, 2017 by volpeadrian

A little something for the weekend?

My apologies for disturbing you, I know one or two of you are either relaxing by a pool or on a beach somewhere warm, smug in the knowledge that we are not basking in a heatwave at home.

Oh irony, well I’ve stopped now, Raoul does hate it when I take over his chores. Those of you queueing at a border controls across Europe, my commiserations, but I voted to remain, and as I can feel the cold breath of winter from our near neighbours, it is time to get the home fires burning. If we create enough pollution and burn a great big hole in the ozone layer we will have weather to die for, and no need to leave the country we got back! Ibiza, no chance you can’t hold a candle to Cromer!

Mother Nature is fickle, and what is worse she is being paid less than Father Time, but no sooner had we started to compare this summer to the glorious summer of 1976 when she brings autumn forward.

With this to read, perhaps you might just put that riveting book down, you know the one on the “History of Oil and Kerosene Lamps” (non-illustrated edition), or perhaps you have now moved onto the “Altitudinal distribution patterns of Alpine plants”, wake me up before you gogo!

I was almost sweet sixteen in 1976, like a young Les McKeown, well apart from the tartan strides and outrageous accent, so even those of you without a background in astrophysics should be able to work that one out. Forty-five days without rain, stand pipes in the street and temperatures of over 25C, pah, memorable summer of 2017 my whatsit, grow a beard and man-up.

Well, I see the little silhouette of a man Scaramucci, Scaramucci has fandangoed his way straight out of the White House. Apparently his expletive tirades we too much for the Big D, but what Big D didn’t know is that the more we swear, the more trustworthy we are perceived to be. So ^$*” ^ *%*£ *$ you!

I feel so much better now I’ve got that off my chest, don’t seem to feel any different, I suppose once a snake oil salesman! Perhaps Tony was coming from a much lower base, and I guess the only way was up.

Trump’s Presidency is starting to resemble a Netflix Original series, Netflix and chill… eeeeewwww, Big D at your side, strategically placed tie, doesn’t bare thinking about, don’t even countenance the thought!

This side of the pond our lot are in recession, in their respective constituency surgeries perhaps and like your Doctor an appointment isn’t available until after the next election. No talk of staycationing this year.

Well this was a brief ditty to remind you to look at the ‘Daily Deals’, keep a careful eye out, I might offer up my gran at any time!

Happy New Year of the Rooster

Posted on February 8, 2017 by volpeadrian

Following a dry January, and by dry I mean no Newsletter.

You didn’t think for one moment that I would, or could have given up alcohol!

Foo Dog

We are well into 2017, so what does the New Year have in store for us?

Light the blue touch paper.

Those resolutions cast at the side of the road like Neil’s banana skin, organic and biodegradable. They’ll be long gone by Easter.

One or two of you have found new addictions, like following The Donald on Twitter, unlike Sky with its predictable mantra, The Donald fires off missives and fires people on a whim.

A man holding up a sign in the European Parliament saying Nigel Farage is lying to us all, no guano Watson, where were you a year ago? Surely this is how we expect our politicians to behave, expanding to a packed audience, not a dry eye in the house.

Statistics were born of Beelzebub; you can make them say anything you want, support any argument, give credence to clear water, and hence we are in the mess we are in!

The poisoned chalice of Europe is filled to the brim with hemlock, and it appears that the mandarins wouldn’t want a sip for all the tea in China.

Talks of trade deals and behind the scenes machinations have the politicians in a tizzy.

Secret societies, ‘Deep State’, the Underwater World of Jacques Cousteau, Thunderbirds are Go, Joe 90, Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons…

By all accounts they were all playing at DC10 on New Year’s Day. By way of explanation, DC10 is a club in Ibiza (well of course it would be), it is 300 metres from the end of the runway and to the roars of the crowd planes come in to land only a couple of hundred feet above!

At New Year, I was wandering round the garden centres of Ibiza with Neil, not looking for psychotropic substances on this occasion, but an olive tree for his back patio at the new house.

Morning Face

We struck a strange trio, three more unlikely amigos you are likely to find. Neil gold toothed, beanie-hatted tattooist with all the bedside manner of Neil the tattooist, Eugene; Danish sex god, sporting a black python skin jacket and matching Cuban heeled boots, et moi your basic ‘eurotrash’, looking for the perfect plant.

We would stop from time to time and discuss pruning methods to create the perfect topiary and disc like platers that will adorn said tree.

Flame trees of Ibiza

Perhaps a glass of Mezcal, Tequilla or Hierbas con hielo would aid the decision making process, so we adjourn to a restaurant and while away the hours.

Ibiza does that to you, minutes become hours, which in turn become days, one minute you were sober and completely in control of your faculties, the next you wake up next to a cactus or a prickly pear. No metaphor intended!

I strolled along the golden sands of Las Salinas without a soul around shoes and socks off, lay on the sand, paddled in the sea; I could be forgiven for forgetting that it was January.

Toe in the water

From Ibiza I headed for Pitti Uomo in Florence, by comparison it was grey and damp, and full of yet more men in ridiculous outfits, I do not include myself.

Pitti as it is known has become selfie heaven, Instagram Nirvana, the more OTT the outfit, the more people hope to be snapped for an obscure Japanese fashion magazine, which is printed on seaweed and available only from a small kiosk opposite the middle school in Fukaura.

I returned to London, my aura a little shaken by the look, but have no fear; none of it will be making its way onto our shelves, so rest easy.

Dedicated followers of fashion

There will new stock shortly, but meanwhile you will have to amuse yourselves with the rantings of a man with a very long red tie.

Volpe Sartoriale

Posted on December 14, 2016 by volpeadrian

http://www.volpesartoriale.com

The new website is up and running, full of photos and with a video still to come, it is not and is never likely to be a trading website, but more a window into the world of clothing we make.

I must say a huge ‘Thank you’ to my close friend and model Kirk Newmann, and the producer and photographer James Nader of Visual Prestige Agency. The results speak for themselves, incredibly impressive and innovative work.

The blog and existing website will continue as is, there is a menu tag for the new website on the old and visa-versa.

Sadly for you lot I will continue to attempt to write.

Finally before a Newsletter, a thank you to each and every one of you who has made what I do so much fun. Without this I would not be doing a job I love and dealing with people I consider friends. ‘Thank you’ I’ll be coming back as me too!

So, without further ado.

Bet you wondered where I had got too!

Well, like Santa Claus I have been dealing with a very long list of requests.

The list stretches to the gates of Hades and almost to a man, or woman there was a theme. Why do you want to come back as me? It’s not as if I am a playboy of the status of Lapo Elkann. Who he you ask?

Lapo is the grandson of Gianni Agnelli, and don’t ask, who he? Look it up, I am not Wikipedia, I only write this and I still have to look things up!

Lapo is trying his hardest to keep up with me, but it seems like it snows all year round in his world, and where as the rest of us would have a minor tantrum if all was not well with the world, Lapo pretends he has been kidnapped, and with his well-documented issues of what seems real to him, well m’lud I rest my case.

Yet I still wonder why me?

Trips to exotic locations. Always on a plane with a party to go to, and to paraphrase a thousand songs “New York, St Tropez, Tokyo, Miami and Ibiza, da da da”.

I could be a songwriter and I can’t wait to become Interstellar star on Jupiter, Mars, Alpha Centauri, Zubenelgenubi, well U all know where this is disappearing!

Superstar

Sheila from BA is plying me with champagne, ensuring that my fun levels are topped up. After all, everybody loves champagne…

I am Pitbull without the looks, off the leash and I’m not wearing a muzzle, I am celebrating, mazel tov!

As sure as eggs are eggs (thoughts are turning to Easter already?), Jake has reminded me that it is only a certified number of sleeps to Christmas, and if I hadn’t stopped him, he would have reeled off the number of hours, minutes, perhaps snowflakes before the auspicious day. He’s 33 years old and yet seems keener than a 10 year old and trying to deflect from the performance of his beloved Wolves.

OK, OK, perhaps I’m a jaded old trump, but I am tiring of the Americanisation of everything.

The hands across the sea relationship now seems like Uncle Sam has his hand in our back pocket and is rummaging around for our wallet.

Black Friday and Cyber Monday, what are they? An event crammed between Trick or Treat and the Nightmare before Christmas?

There is recount going on in 3 American States because of Vlad the Lad’s apparent handiwork, Hillary is personally recounting all the votes, one for me, one for me…

Hopefully it will take her four years.

I would believe in conspiracy, but the aluminium foil helmet and dongle I fashioned myself means I now have Blueteeth, and wifi streaming directly into my brain, the X-ray specs I bought out of the back of a comic as a kid aged seven are finally working!

Mr Assange has been inside my head, you didn’t stay long did you Jules? Heheheh!

Meanwhile Lord Farage of Brexeter, will be attempting to remove a friend of mine from his current position, no, no not our excellent Ambassador to the United States, mind you I’m sure Sir Kim might be happier if it were the case.

I can see Donald throwing these lavish White House parties where there will be a dress code and all the men have to wear these ridiculously long red ties, and not much else, which would probably be much more up Nige’s street.

However it is pantomime season and I received an email from my celebrity friend who has been remarkably quiet of late. I removed him from the mailing list at his behest because he had complained that my life seemed so much more fun than his, but it looks like he has been playing catch up via the website.

Well yes, of course it is, and when you are relegated to the horse’s arse it can feel a bit like pushing something uphill. However Nige is happy to take on this role as long as The Donald takes up the front end and the Pony Club can plait his mane.

Imagine it; The Donald and Nige doing dressage, like Crystal Tips and Alistair, it will be more like Doctor Dolittle’s Pushme-Pullyou, you could franchise it for TV, and call it ‘Ballroom Blitz’ compered by Mickey Mouse dressed as a magician and waving a wand. Couples could include….. Why don’t you think about it?

I’ll start you off with Jeremy Clarkson and James May; Michael Gove and Michael Gove, Dear SIlvio and Vlad the Lad…

Suggestions on the back of a stamped, addressed envelope, don’t forget to include one of the new fivers, tallow aren’t I!

Finally the travel section, well given the amount I travel it is long overdue. Well maybe in the bumper Christmas edition of he newsletter!

The Donald

Posted on November 12, 2016 by volpeadrian

Oh goodness, I’ve broken cover.

Everybody is headed for the Canadian Border, and even the Canadian Immigration website crashed when all the Americans realised ~~Nigel Farage~~ Donald had won.

The ‘Perfect Storm’ is brewing

First Brexit and then The Donald, the wind of change is blowing a gale and the only thing not moving is Donald’s quiff.

Apparently Francois Hollande is impeach, I thought Michael Portillo and I were the only people who wore that colour!

Monsieur Hollande should take a tip from Donald’s coiffeur, as it probably costs a great deal of money to arrange this particular topiary, something little Frankie is not shy of, at least Donald looks like he gets value for money. Frankie’s hairdresser has to deal with his helmet hair, where as the Donald’s had a helmet made to minimise the effect!

You just know that his head will appear on a dollar bill one day. Perhaps the billion dollar note, which he will be unable to use because no one will be able, or want to give him change.

Much like the €500 note.

The Helmet

Donald is now familiarising himself with the White House.

Where best to have the photos for Hola taken, perhaps add a condo, or a golf course and resort.

But apparently he is having problems accessing one or two areas. Some of the doors are locked and he is being shadowed by someone from the FBI telling him there is nothing to see behind them!

They’ve even removed anything with buttons on, including the remote controls and microwaves just in case he gets the midnight munchies, or needs to go for a Wikileak and it ends in Armaggedon, rather than a Pot Noodle. Just when Hillary thought she had first dibs on Jon Bon Jovi, you wouldn’t want to miss a thing!

I’ve heard that he may be given one of those telephones with the big keys, but it’ won’t be wired up, as Vlad the Lad will be listening in.

He’s got that sulky look on his face that he gets when he’s done something to upset Ivana and she is reading the riot act, and Hugh Hefner (is he still with us?) is off the Christmas Card list, even at 90 he’s been staying up all night!

Wandering in the hallways of the White House, Donald is suddenly confronted by a faun, and the faun beckons him into one of the many bedrooms. Donald thinks finally the magic will happen and he will understand the inner machinations and workings that go on behind those locked doors.

The faun opens a wardrobe door and ushers Donald through, his tiny hands pushing away Melania’s fur coats, on and on the two of them wander until Donald feels his feet starting to get wet and suddenly the path drops steeply away, and Donald is falling; faster and faster, then there is daylight and Donald is catapulted through the air landing with a huge splash in a giant swimming pool to huge cheers.

When he surfaces, next to him in the pool are Hugh Hefner and Snoop Dog, leading the cheering crowd is Hillary dressed as the white witch and directing a Mexican wave!

Hillary and the crowd shout in Unison, “Welcome to our all inclusive resort!”

In the real world the person that appears to be Donald is softening his stance, keeping Obamacare and talking not about building stonewalls, but fences he can sit on.

Have you noticed how his hair is parted on the other side, and do his hands do seem slightly larger?

Make mine a double!

Better late than never – Bacchanalian celebrations continue

Posted on November 4, 2016 by volpeadrian

For goodness sake, give me five minutes sojourn from travelling, and celebrating my birthday in order to write a newsletter.

I thought you’d all be glad of a rest from all this drivel, but I have been reminded more than once, that I hadn’t written anything in ages.

This has meant that I have had to break off from my Bacchanalian feasting long enough to press fingers on keys and give my own peculiar take on world events.

My birthday; if you were not aware occurs on All Saints Day, this was a source of mirth for one or two of you. Moi the third Duke of Pimlico in a vineyard in Bordeaux at 3am with my reputation?

But my thoughts are drawn to current affairs…. No, the news, not my private life. For heaven sake, do you have to look at everything from a juxtaposition? I tried it, my back has only just recovered, and I know there are some of you who will go home and try this tonight, I warn you it’s not what you think, so don’t blame me.

Politics on both sides of the Pond is starting to look like a really bad haircut, with politicians fighting for attention, like Donkey in the Shrek movies, pick me, pick me. Waiting for Simon to press his Golden Buzzer.

Unfortunately it seems our politics have never been more polarised and the speeches are being made from the wings each playing to their own gallery, too scared or unable to understand how to take the centre stage.

The Washington and Westminster villages are starting to look like bubbles where the people on the inside are the ones wielding the pins and seem set on trying burst them!

I leave it to the Bard to Prologue the scene:

Two households, both unalike in dignity,
In fair Parliament, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean….

After Shakespeare.

Jingoism Unchained, the people are set free, we are all headed for Candyland.

Europe meanwhile, has been enjoying an Indian summer, et ego quoque.

I decided that this year the celebrations would mirror those of Bacchus, but only after I had returned to the white isle for one last swim. I have a small secluded beach I run to, where I can guarantee that I will not be troubled by people requiring my sartorial advice, where I can be at one with nature.

S’estanyol

Even in the middle of October the water in Ibiza was warm enough for me not to require a layer of goose grease, anyway it would be a terrible waste of foie!

Neil was on sparkling form, we were going to cycle together now that we have formed the Inkadelic Cycling Club, but a short, sharp shower put paid to that and Neil decided that I required a little more work. Raoul my ‘waxer’ was mortified, but he does scare easily and Halloween was just round the corner. He just kept muttering, is that blood, real blood?

It was my intention to post a photo of Neil at work, but it has been censored following several complaints after I had posted it on Facebook.

Inkadelic Cycling Club Ibiza

Neil has finally put down some serious roots on the island, and is looking forward to moving into his new pad in D’alt Villa next year.

We both made a new friend this year and our thoughts are with this new friend and his dad after Shifty came off worse in an altercation with a car. Shifty is a miniature pinscher and those of you who are that way inclined can follow him on Instagram ‘Shiftys_world’.

Instagram shiftys_world

My life is full of rich experiences, whether someone is chucking pound coins at me and demanding that I dance, perhaps this is what it is like being at a West Ham game (it transpires that the rent on the Olympic Stadium is less than I pay for the shop, how does that happen?); or an older lady telling me how much she admires how I fill out my clothes, it appears I’m on to a winning streak!

Bordeaux by night

My birthday celebrations took place in Bordeaux and Saint Emilion, swanning, not swaying round a couple of Chateaux.

My private tour was organised by ‘Bordeaux with Elodie’.

http://www.bordeauxwithelodie.com/

I cannot recommend Elodie and Laetitia highly enough.

They organised two wonderful days around Bordeaux.

A marvellous tour of two vineyards in Saint Emilion, Chateau Guadet, which is one of only two Chateau in the centre of the village, full of history and eerie limestone tunnels.

http://www.chateau-guadet-saintemilion.fr/

This was followed by a tasting of some magnificent wines, and before you ask, that is a bottle of Chateau Angelus, and yes we did taste 8 wines. Hic!

If I must!

And I may have bought the odd bottle.

This was followed by lunch and a visit to a more modern set up, at the newly renovated Chateau Tour Saint Christophe, set in the beautiful rolling hills around Saint Emilion. Wonderful wines with a different structure.

www.vignoblesk.com

Laetitia drove us back to Bordeaux, via all the Chateaux of the area. The sun went down to end a perfect day.

Sunset over Chateau Angelus

The next day was spent at the Dune du Pyla, where I imagined I was Lawrence of Arabia… I can but dream, but by all accounts I have strange imagination and do not live in the real world.

Dune du Pyla

And lunch…… You can see the weather was kind.

La C(o)rniche

We have many new projects afoot including a 360 degree view inside the shop on both levels. Just drag the little dangly man on Streetview over the shop on Google Maps and by the power of the interweb you are beamed by Scotty straight onto the ground floor, press the lift button and the basement beckons.

There will be a new website, it will be attached to this blog and also as a separate entity and much more impressive presence on social media.

And if you have read all the way to the end, there will be a wine tasting soon, including some of the wines I brought back.

Tripping the Light Fantastic

Posted on September 26, 2016 by volpeadrian

I have, as I always have; been tripping the light fantastic.

There is some new stock, but this newsletter is merely window dressing, a little foreplay before the main event, call it a drip feed.

I could employ a ‘fluffer’ to keep you all entertained, plumping pillows, stroking cashmere, but already I can feel your minds starting to wander. In a future life I may come back as a goldfish, anyway, where was I? Whoa… stop: side of the bowl!

Empire State

Lest we forget

To begin the beguine, I would like to thank everyone for their support on my little trip to New York. It was a pleasure to see you all, some old friends, and some new.

And I fell in love, her name is Erica, she’s not yet 2 and adorable. Sorry Henry!

As you can gather I will be planning many more jaunts to quench my thirst for wanderlust, and for those of you who are unsure, ‘wanderlust’ is not a cocktail. I can already see this newsletter will be full of explanations, definitions and double entendres, and that’s starting to confuse the spell checker.

I could sit around all day reading philosophy, pretending I understood Seneca, but as a goldfish I swim in shallower water. The world’s sfumatore is a grey mist, I am a child of blue skies, and talking of blue skies, I was back in Ibiza at the weekend.

Neil world famous tattooist invited me out for a few days cycling, he is a changed man, his days of partying are behind him, now it’s all carbon fibre (fiber for the Americans amongst you), gear ratios and black Lycra.

Two great, long rides in two days, the first included a stop for lunch at Puertas del Cielo. I may have had a slight accident afterwards, whilst I was standing still. Why are there always paparazzi around at moments like this?

Tumbling Dice

The second ride was on the beautiful island of Formentera. I had always assumed that the island was entirely flat! Well it is; apart from the long climb up to the lighthouse at Pilar de la Mola.

Creative writing moment… I climbed the hill up to La Mola, my legs still heavy from the previous day’s exertions and the tarmac was dragging on my tyres in the heat, I navigated bend after bend as I made swift progress towards the summit. My thighs were starting to burn and I changed through the gears to keep my cadence steady, beads of sweat forming on my forehead, each turn led to another, the air thinning and filled with the scent of the pine trees, the tight Lycra clinging to me, fifty shades of blue, not much further… OK that’s enough, my mum might be reading this!!!

Torpedoes away

The Hills have Hills

The Hills of Formentera

Neil always carries a spare banana in his Lycra… Stop it!

On the way down to El Faro de la Mola he ate the banana and discarded the skin at the side of the road. We stopped at the lighthouse and took some photos, Neil drank a ‘Red Bull’, tucked the empty can into the pocket on the back of his shirt, we turned round to head back to the village, and a well-deserved beer.

We had cycled a few hundred metres when I was passed by a Police car, lights and siren on. There must have been some sort of emergency, perhaps a lost dog; you know one of those toy ones which live in a handbag, maybe it had locked itself out!

BUT no, they were pulling Neil over.

The older policeman who had been driving was lecturing Neil about the illegal dumping of a banana skin. Neil was saying as it was ‘residuos biodegradables’ (hablo español), he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it and then produced the empty ‘Red Bull’ can from his pocket which he was going to recycle!

The younger policeman in the passenger seat was laughing the whole time.

He’d noticed that Neil was smoking a joint.

This could only happen on Ibiza.

Neil was let off with a reprimand and offered to go back and pick the discarded skin up.

Meanwhile he had sent me the location of a dead hedgehog we’d seen at the side of the road; someone would be back for that later, to add to Neil’s menagerie in formaldehyde!

He was in London at the end of last week for a Tatttoo Convention, a great success and I know he was here to pick up a few special things!

Sadly we missed each other as I was preforming live on stage, well not on stage per say, more I was approached by a number of groupies to produce my best Robin Williams impersonation.

Judge for yourself!

Batman or Robin?