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.

End of May 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

So it looks like you’re going to get it twice this month. Oh goody, I hear you all cry in unison.

I’ve struggled with my conscience, but I finally had to end my run in the window. My adoring public will have to wait. I mean the matinees I could cope with, but the evening performance was playing to an entirely different crowd, plus I was getting a little tired of wearing the make-up. What an ill-mannered rabble of drunks and hecklers my customers can be. Perhaps I should have enlisted my d-list friend to understudy, but then I’d never have got rid of him. He’d only draw attention to himself, and who in their right mind would want to do that!

Jake has aged in the last few days. Some of you may know, but he supports Wolverha…. Wolves. They survived the drop, the outcome left until the final throes of the season. On recent Saturdays Jake would disappear for hours. OK, he was in the shop, but I would find him, head in hands, muttering to himself, much of which I can’t repeat here. All because Wolves had let in a goal in the first minute, let in a goal in the last minute, or worse, both. Then he would blame me for jinxing them or if it got really bad, his parents for bringing him into this miserable world. Oh well, such is the life of a fanatical football supporter. But spare a thought for me, yes, I know it’s all about me, but it is my newsletter. We’re going to have this all over again next season, and he still won’t be allowed to wear club colours to work.

The ash cloud has returned. Well there is a bank holiday this weekend, OK, OK, at the moment isn’t there. All part of Dave’s happiness index, who wouldn’t feel better not going into work every day?

And there is nothing more certain than an ash cloud to turn Michael O’Leary from the adorable little Andrex puppy he is, into a snarling dandy dinmont (it’s a dog before you have to look it up). I mention him because I feel at this moment in time I am one of the few people on the planet not to blame for any slight upon him. I’m sure he’s dreaming up ways to charge for tours of the ash cloud, come to think of it he may even charge you for dreaming if you dare to fall asleep on one of his flights. I say this without ever having flown with Ryanair, but then Ryanair conveniently doesn’t fly to anywhere I want to go at the moment. Phew!

By the way, my theory is that Ryanair isn’t an airline but a psychological experiment to see how much humiliation human beings will endure in order to save a few bob.

The ash cloud has given Sky the opportunity to report on its position every 15 minutes. Perhaps it will encircle the country rendering travel impossible by all but a leaky boat, and once again “chicken licken”, the sky is falling in.

As for you lot, well! Rosie has a stalker! No not me, and not Mark either, but there are sinister things afoot in Pimlico Village. I’d like to thank one customer in particular for the kind text he sent me. Never, ever do it again. Pervert! Those of you who have seen the text will know what I mean, those of you who haven’t, not a chance. No really, not a chance, suffice to say it exists, as evidence. And Michael, you can stop calling, Duran (the underwear model) is in Miami, so there is no chance of him coming round to walk the dog.

Now I hadn’t heard from Adam and mad Anne, but it seems there was a reason for her madness. A large brain tumour, strange how finally the reasons show themselves. My wife has previous for this, she suffered from and was successfully treated for one just after we were married. So we wish Anne all the very best and a very speedy recovery, but quite how she will manage that with Adam’s help I will never know.

Finally, time for a little plug. Otaniyien Ekiomado my personal trainer has launched a website. Since he worked wonders with my tired old bones, I feel that “Intelligent Vanity” is worth a visit. I wish him all the very best with it.  In my case one of those words in the title is applicable. I’ll leave you to work it out.

Sent from my iPad=—====—-=== with go-faster stripes!!!!!!

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.