August 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Firstly, Jake is back from holiday – oh joy. And just as I was able to catch up on some work.

Congratulations to all our medal winners, a magnificent haul. It seems a shame that they won’t all be honoured in the time honoured way, a large contract with the BBC. They should be rewarded for their efforts, but somehow like exam results it is fashionable to move the goalposts just as the ball crosses the line. Perhaps to do a U turn, just to show we care. Of course by “we” I mean Dave and Nick, who I’m sure I will be snuggled up under the duvet of coalition as soon as it gets cold and the electricity prices go up.

Most of you seemed to scarper as soon as the Olympics started and were not to be seen again until we dropped the baton. But it did mean that you could get a table in any restaurant in London, and cross Piccadilly without looking.

Jake is now offering me his iphone 4S 64GB, so he can upgrade to the new iphone 5 when it comes out. At what he says will be at a preferential rate, he is even going to throw in a very attractive gold Wolves case! Aaaaaaarggghhhhh. Many of you missed the start of the football season. Oh, poor Jake; the first game a loss and now the board are selling off the crown jewels, left right and centre. Their season is over.

It is a similar dilemma for me, when asked, why there are never any plain blue or white shirts in the sale. It’s a simple answer, next season I will have to go out and buy the same thing again for more money. Have football clubs not grasped this simple concept? The key is in the word simple, or Joey Barton!

Talking of the crown jewels, I would have expected nothing less from Harry.

Well it’s not the first time, but once again I am writing this sat on an aeroplane. I have avoided jokes about the mile high club for the sake of the prurient amongst you. Is it really up, up and away?

Back to Florence again, life is full of hardship, but as Sam has been very quiet on the travel front, I thought I should take up his mantle. This weekend I should be meeting up with Sunil in a Castello near Viterbo. He is taking a holiday, wonders will never cease.

Things are going well there. But those of you who know, know, and those of you who don’t, I’m sorry for the moment my lips are sealed. Isn’t that so unlike me, but then I’m nothing but capricious.

And please, I am not helping “Dear Silvio” with his return. This is well underway, and they have found a stash of lire in a warehouse in Palermo which should boost the economy. ON everyone someone has written, please pass this on for luck……..

Obviously this was last weekend, but I was writing this beforehand, trying to show that there is input throughout the month.

Also I could recount every tube and bus journey, and the ins and outs of my Oyster Card, but I’d soon have you all asleep, and we’ve only just begun.

A few updates are in order. Jason is back from hols, and knowing his reputation, woe be tide any young ladies that might have been in his vicinity upon his Athenian travails, you know what happens. Shirley is not far from releasing her first born upon the world. By the time this is published she will have stopped working, and Marie tells me that the time is nigh. She could always spend her days reliving her pregnancy via my newsletters on the website, hoping the odd snigger may induce labour and get it all over with.

Some of you may remember Eugenia who used to come into the shop from time to time. Yes, she’s the one who we taught to see a second meaning in everything, a degree in double entendre. By we, I mean me, because poor Jake was too young and innocent. I did say he was! Eugenia is getting married later this year, to Ricardo from Ecuador. Eugenia is multi lingual. Good, avoided the obvious joke, but you know where I was going. She even speaks Swahili, which surprised the heck out of a friend of mine. I’m pretty sure she told him that his spear wasn’t as big as he thought. I think Ricardo knows what he is letting himself in for, and I did try to warn him, but perhaps he is blinded by her looks. She is very pretty. Sorry Gen, but you have grown into your ears. Oh, how I remember the days when we used to be able to pick you up by them!

Michael is in Mikonos, and has been on a diet for what seems like forever, and all he talks about is food, I think this has severely affected his mental state, and it’s made his legs turn yellow. Oh no, that’s the fake tan, and his feet are still cadaverous. B*$£h I can hear him say. I just wish I could be there to see him exit the water, a la Daniel Craig. I just hope he remembers to tie the cord on his trunks, up. But it would be so like him not to. However Michael is looking very svelte, he just tries to thwart me by buying macaroons from Pierre Herme (eat your heart out Laduree) this is the real deal.

Neil doesn’t appear to have noticed that I’m not in Ibiza, but I think his head has been turned by an Italian beauty supplied by Pink, who is down there helping Neil out.

Sorry another update, Neil has noticed that I’m not in Ibiza. By all accounts August has left him a nervous wreck. All of those acres of unadorned flesh have left his needles blunt, and only faithful Scratch for company.

And although he hasn’t been mentioned for a while my ‘D’ list celebrity “friend”, has been spotted promoting clubs on the beaches in Ibiza. This generally involves you walking around shirtless, tanned and surrounded by a bevvy of girls dressed the same way. However in his case it means dressed as a Pacha Cherry. A strange way of getting your five-a-day.

And finally Richard has been gone a year, but not forgotten. His chair remains, and perhaps I shall have a brass plaque made to honour him in his absence. Only recently have the emails been returned, perhaps he keeps tabs on my grammar via the website. He will always be able to return to somewhere, where he is known.

Sent from my ipad

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

July 2012 Out of Office Update – Volpe Newsletter

Well Jake’s watching the Olympics, if it’s not the archery, it’s the canoeing, and if not the tennis, the weightlifting. And as tumbleweed is blowing down London’s empty streets, I thought I’d share a couple of bits of news with you, rather than publish it on Twitter.

Yesterday I was wandering around Piccadilly Circus, when I was approached by a young lady. Yes, you lot, not the other way around! It was Jayne from The Wolseley, she’d been checking out the competition with Emanuelle. Well, let me tell you, when it comes to me there is no competition! I was wearing something from my Emperor’s New Clothes collection. Well it was quite humid outside.

Don’t worry I’ll wait for you to get the joke. Madonna found it very alluring.

Anyway I digress; back to Jayne. She suggested a tour of Zedel, the latest opening in the Rexra Group of restaurants. As I’d not been I before I accepted, so we descended into the depths below Piccadilly Circus, to be greeted by Danielle, how we have missed he cherubic face at breakfast. Sorry Jason, but….

It looks fantastic, and as soon as I stop dashing around Europe, I’ll be in like Flint.

And someone has a stalker.

This is what happens when you get very drunk, meet someone; give them your phone number and arrange to meet them at the top of the London Eye 9 and a half weeks later.

First of all the texts start quite playfully, reminiscing over the evening when you met, the horrible drunken state you were both in, the particularly interesting outfit you were wearing. About how romantic it was to arrange to meet at some predetermined point in the future, when clearly you haven’t got a clue as to who this person is.

How the messages get more frantic when you fail to reply, when you can’t remember them or their name. Finally when they buy the tickets for the date on the Eye, and you start to worry that they might be mad.

At least you finally came clean and admitted you couldn’t remember the slightest thing about that night; but do they know where you work?

I await an update.

And as for Dave of the last newsletter, no David it isn’t you, and tell your dad I’m sorry about the Rangers quip, but….

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

July 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Before I start, it appears I have a lot to answer for, namely the weather. I shall quote from May’s Newsletter:

“The drought is back on. Put away your hosepipes, the paddling pool in the window remains empty. Do you know how long it will take to fill, one espresso cup at a time?

Scorchiooooo.

Of course no sooner will I have said this, than the clouds will gather, the rain will fall, and I’ll go off in search of some sunshine: Jake has always accused me of jinxing everything.”

Oooops!

I take it all back in the hope that summer might make an appearance. Currently I am suffering from “Trench Foot”, and I haven’t even been to any festivals. I pity those of you who have. No, not really, you’ll only have yourselves to blame. Off in search of drugs and alcohol, and a few cheap thrills.

Talking of this Jake went to see Bruce Springsteen, had his foot trodden on and headed for the exit before Paul McCartney. He curses about it to this day.

And Jake is finally taking a holiday. Wonders will never cease. He is headed for Spain, and a week of sun, sea and sand, and probably alcoholic poisoning. It will be an all-inclusive resort, which really means he will head for the pool, lie down and have a tube inserted into his mouth. Via this method his food and cocktails can be regularly administered without the need to voluntarily move a muscle. The gag reflex and peristalsis will see to that. Yes, I had to look them up as well. But hopefully he will return refreshed, ready to except the reality of life in the Championship , for a season before relegation means free fall to the Conference. At least he doesn’t support Rangers.

Sunil has been to see me, and we did lunch. I only do this about once a year, because I am a breakfast man, and yes, we all know where! However this time we went there for lunch and Jason nearly fell off his perch. Have you been away Jason? Private joke and it was not at Her Majesty’s pleasure. More a day release I think.

One of this month’s highlights was supplied by Sunil who kindly serenaded us in the shop on the piano, via the hands free speaker on our phone. The young man is clearly talented, or perhaps he has Jamie Cullum trapped in a box, not quite as implausible as it sounds. But a little Bach went a long way to soothing the savage beast.

I keep being drawn back to Italy; Florence, Pisa, Parma, Roma and Lucca, funny how they all sound like ****stars. Or perhaps the names of children from bohemian families who spend their summer basking in the villa in the hills outside Ibiza town; too spaced out to venture into the pool, let alone a trip (substance abuse related joke), to the beach. Do I sound jealous and bitter? Yes? Good because I am. I will not be in Ibiza this year again, the pressure of work will keep me here, and as they say, home is where the heart is.

The only consolation is that I am in Italy regularly to keep an eye on a current project, and I have stayed in some interesting places. I woke one morning to find a note pinned to my door, informing me in Italian to keep the noise down, I was embarrassing their children who couldn’t sleep.  It was signed off with an angry face! Perhaps the visit of the waxer to my room was ill advised, but I didn’t think my howls of pain weren’t anything that their children hadn’t heard before. They’d obviously got the wrong room, and I had to have the note translated by the hotel who found it rather amusing. At least time I’d managed to avoid Madonna, she was in the room the other side of the family. I told you they had the wrong room.

There’s nought so queer as folk.

Well I’ve held off as long as possible.

The Olympics have started (or as unofficial sponsors have to refer to it – The Big Multi-National Sports Day).

I thought the opening ceremony was fantastic.  We had Ken Branagh dressed as Abraham Lincoln (yes, some people were not listening to the commentary), The Queen doing her bit for herself and country (was she on her own secret service…?) and of course the dulcet tones of Macca to round off proceedings – I say dulcet as I had nodded off by this point.

I think we have won a Gold Medal in nearly every event but I am finding it hard to keep track, so dizzying is our success. All have been won by our illustrious leader “King Yong Cameron”. There was a moment, when instead of the Union Flag, the cross of St Andrew was displayed, but this was smoothed over like our great leader’s brow. His ability to be present at more than one event has meant that we lead the medal table. He has also been making up the numbers in the crowd at those events where there were empty seats, and he will be playing in the tennis doubles as well as handing the baton to himself in the relay. It is rumoured that he will hop the 100 metres with Gideon tied to his free leg to slow him down. His personal best for this event is 6.2 seconds, I pity poor Usain, who I am sure will withdraw to avoid the humiliation.

However the star attraction will be his appearance at the beach volleyball. He will stride like a lion from his back door, a young Sebastian Coe unable to keep pace with his majesty. DC’s tight Speedos enhancing his reputation as father to the nation, the sand between his toes, the sun on his back…….

Eeew, I can’t keep writing this, I’m feeling slightly nauseous.

Oh, by the way, in the midst of all this excitement, I completely forgot to mention to anyone that we’ve started our “Closing Down” sale. You know the one, the one where we’re not really closing down, but everyone thinks we are.  Blame Dave for this.

Anyway, the sale is going on for a while and for the second successive year, I will be here for pretty much the whole time. Hang on, I’ve just realised why Jake’s booked a week off…

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

May 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

The drought is back on. Put away your hosepipes, the paddling pool in the window remains empty. Do you know how long it will take to fill, one espresso cup at a time?

Scorchiooooo.

Of course no sooner will I have said this, than the clouds will gather, the rain will fall, and I’ll go off in search of some sunshine: Jake has always accused me of jinxing everything.

Sam did rise to last month’s challenge. I was bombarded with page after page of boarding passes, like Leveson enquiry emails, I was starting to feel quite travel sick. However, if I was flying Ryanair, and you know I won’t be, there will be no sick bag. Michael O’Leary tells us that his flights are so smooth and on time, that this renders the sick bag redundant. Perhaps the majority of his passengers have been on “Stag” weekends in near flung places? Last night’s goulash, borscht, etc. are in a gutter somewhere, and they have nothing left for the flight.

Apologies to those of you enjoying breakfast, but I’m sure this saved Mikey a few euros. Excuse me for a moment, nature calls, and I have to give Jake a drachma to use the bathroom. Well, Wolves do need a new striker, midfielder, defender, or team? Please delete as appropriate.

Amidst all the turmoil, one or two of you are still managing to get out there and “splash the cash”. More than one of you has bought a new car, and one of you, a Ferrari California. This particular chap was mentioning to me that he had thought it would be a sedate and peaceful drive, and he was a little surprised at the noise it made, and the fact perhaps he was drawing a little bit too much attention to himself. A little like a Cheryl Cole tattoo. Did you not test drive it? Oh, come on, the car…. And really, I thought that was the point? I bet he’s a hit at the kind of party where you put your keys in a bowl!

I assure you, if you hand the keys in this direction, I’ll have no such problems, my right arm needs a little bit of tan. That goes for any of you who have tired of your wheels. Perhaps not you Izzy, a G-whizz is not quite what I had in mind. I have a friend of longstanding who we will call Bob, his idea of a romantic weekend away with his girlfriend at the time, was to hire a Ford Transit van, in white, of course, pop a mattress in the back and head for Brighton. No Mr and Mrs Smith needed there, then. However his idea of real fun was to be driven around Baghdad, by someone cackling manically at the wheel, live shells rolling around in the foot well, dodging bullets, the driver also turned out to be a customer.

My personal experience with someone with similar honed skills courtesy of our government meant we got lost in the Peak District. A gentle Sunday morning stroll turned into a route march in the most appalling weather conditions without the correct clothing. When I tried to explain to him that we were walking faster than he had calculated and had missed the path we were supposed to take, he held my head underwater for a very long time. OK, OK I made the last bit up, or did I?

Today I have been round to see Michael, he’s on gardening leave, and has decided to head for Naples for a month to learn Italian. I was helping him sort out his wardrobe for the trip. If I didn’t do this, he’d have need of a coterie of porters, a butler, and someone to mop his fevered brow. I did this because I like him, and he needs to keep his children properly covered from the harsh rays of the sun, clearly he needs all the support he can get. But I have keys to his place and if he runs short of shorts I am under instructions to courier him his every need. Knowing Michael as I do, he will return with more clothes than when he left.

Talking of clothes, many have been staring at my wonderful white cotton suit and wondering when I shall be wearing it.  Well in answer to this, when you’re in the queue for an ice cream over the Bank holiday weekend and someone asks if you’d like a flake with that, look up and see if you recognise the face… But I jest: the stretch denim suit that has been delivered will see me in good stead for the rest of the summer.

As my trainer OT has moved onto bigger and better things; we do continue to see each other and the project continues, but I have moved my training headquarters to the gym in Dolphin Square. This is in order to prepare myself for the beach volleyball at the Olympics, just in case they need a ball boy, a lucky mascot, anything, really anything, I can mop a fevered brow with the best of them.

We have started to play Christmas music in the shop. Early I know, but it appears to be the only playlist that Jake and I can agree on or aren’t bored of at the moment. We could of course play the entire Eurovision 2012 contest from start to finish on the BBC iplayer, including the Russian grannies on a loop. Aaaargghh, I hear Jake cry no more music with accordions in it, but then he did say Jedward were OK: perhaps it’s the heat.

Finally, it is official; I am too tall to be the president of France. Some good news then?

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

June 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

After another thrilling bout of end of season excitement Jake has returned blinking into the daylight after hiding under the stairs, only to find out that little Shrek has had a hair transplant. At least Wayne has had the good grace to man up to it, like those prostitute tales. I hate it when people resort to superinjunctions.

I can’t wait for Wayne to be sporting dreadlocks by Poznan 2012. He’s certainly looking a lot more cheerful these days.

Do you know how long it took me to get Jake back to work? I’m going to have to coax him back out again by promising not to jinx Wolves again, and with all the preseason transfer speculation, it’s not as though they don’t need any help. That’s it, I’m banning him from Twitter.

Where’s that? I hear you ask. Don’t worry, I had to look it up too. It’s in Poland and is accessible via Ryanair from Liverpool, a match made in heaven, and fine for Stevie G.

After complaints about the erratic delivery of the newsletters, please be aware that henceforth I shall dispense with formal dates and just send them when the mood suits.

I even got a text asking how I determine when the mood suits and what goes on in the darkest recesses of my warped mind in order to stir the creative juices to a point where they start to flow. I’ve paraphrased the message because producing it verbatim would cause spam filters to explode, which kind of gives you a clue to the content.

Some of you have asked if I’ve been taking steroids to create my pumped look. I didn’t know you cared, well except the person who sent me the text, and of course my stalker. And the customer whose inside leg I was measuring. But that’s a story for another newsletter. The answer is no. It is nothing more than a good healthy diet and lots of exercise under the instruction of my trainer Otaniyien.

One of you who asked is Welsh. Look you, you more than most should know how much effort it takes to chase sheep, especially the young and frisky ones at this time of year.

I’ve nearly got the application of the protective screen to my iPad to a point where it no longer looks like deflated bubble wrap, and no, it’s not one large bubble that covers the entire screen, have some faith, please. Sadly for you lot I can now read what I am typing. Up to this point these have just been a fortuitous collection of key strokes falling into place.

Anyway, the sun is out, the sky is blue, there’s not a cloud to spoil the view……Yes, you get the idea, I’m travelling again. Back to Rome this time to work on next summer’s collection. So soon I hear you cry, but darlinks, I vork in fashion where nothing is qvite vhat it seems, and where Zoolander is more documentary than parody.

It’s not as if we’ve enjoyed the giddy heights of this years’ June downpour, a covered up Centre Court, and the bumper strawberry crop infecting everyone with a new and exotic strain of bug. Well rather that than a Teutonic cucumber (yes, I know it was bean sprouts, but when has the image they convey ever been funny?).

Jason at the Wolseley asked me to resend May’s Newletter, because his iPhone crashed, and he missed his mention him in that one. I duly obliged on condition that he never sits me next to……………”Mr super injunction” and “Miss super injunction” again. It’s not as though I can repeat a word they said.

But wait, spare a thought for Anthony Weiner, and his lover and aspiring actress in the adult field, Ginger Lee. I mean, is that how they do it? Ginger Lee? And is someone not pronouncing his name correctly? I thought it was always “i” before “e”, but perhaps we should consult a linguist. You couldn’t make it up could you? Well I could, but could I do any better than a Jodie Foster film about Mel Gibson and a beaver?

Now for the plug. Oh, for goodness sakes sit down at the back. You really are a rowdy lot.

Mark Williams of Mail Shot International has been our courier service both domestic and international for some time. They offer a very efficient and friendly service, and I feel he deserves a mention for the heroics he undertakes. And he never asks what we really put in the parcels.

Finally, Greg is off to the wedding in Florence, so we wish him well. He contemplated flouting the dress code, but I talked him down. At least he will now wear something in the heat.

Stop press: Olympic ticket allocation, badminton, basketball, tae kwan do, handball, basketball, and wait for it……..women’s beach volleyball. Everybody I had asked had applied for these tickets, but these are mine and not for sharing…… unless!

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.