April 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

This is being written on my new gadget of the month, big up to Matthew for the ZAGGmate keyboard for iPad. But now the iPad2 is on the way, what shall I do?

WARNING: Contains offensive and cruel jokes, or so some of you have been telling me.

That Wedding has been and gone and I’m new man enough to say that I watched quite a bit with my wife and mother in law. I regarded it as my duty to be able comment here on matters sartorial. Can’t have too many hats, gloves and scarves! Besides, it was too dangerous to ask them for the remote, a kind of World Cup for the “ladies”.

All I want to know. Was Mike Tindall sitting next to Tara Palmer-Tomkinson?

My other duty was to hold the fort, repel boarders and generally not trying to think of those of you who took the three days in the middle to relax and enjoy yourselves. Hope you enjoyed yourselves. I was doing the VAT.

But anyway, I think it is time to introduce you to a new character. Oh yes, she is real enough. It seems Brenda has found her “hedge fund hubby” and probably chained him to a radiator somewhere, just feeding him Rich Tea biscuits (’cause she thinks they’re posh, well they were for me), whilst raiding his shrinking bank account.

So let me introduce Rosie to the fold. She’s a blonde and a fast piece, that’s for sure. Rosie lives opposite the shop and can be seen around Pimlico jogging, cycling and popping off for tennis just because she can. I was always fascinated by the array of supercars parked outside her flat. I felt taunted, I mean, they were just parked there: Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Aston Martins. It was like Harrods on a Saturday.

But no, Rosie wasn’t a member of the Qatari royal family but a member of a car club, though she did own several cars too.

Rosie was born to race, a kind of posher and prettier Vin Diesel in The Fast and the Furious. Rosie is now single and looking for a new man, but guys beware, her idea of fun is racing an Aston whilst naked around Silverstone. Apparently she’s misplaced her race suit so heaven knows what she’d do at the Nurburgring. She’s currently dating a guy with four Astons; do I hear any advance on that? I’ll keep you posted!

STOP PRESS. Rosie has met Mark. Well, he did have to go over and wipe the bonnet of his DBS after she’d dribbled on it. Introductions were made, but Mark, I don’t hold out much hope, after all you are only a one Aston man.

My good friend Ralph has put me in touch with a fragrance house in LA. We are in negotiations to supply Volpe with an aftershave though I”m not sure who’d want to smell like a fox. Their main scent is called “Gendarme”. So, do I go with Rozzer, Filth, Truncheon (stop sniggering) or “You’re nicked, me old son”?

It was Mike Ashley’s birthday this month, and the wife suggested I should send him a black and white teddy, but how would I know how to get the size right, I mean he’s a big fella.

And talking of that, a certain French chef has been explaining how we Ingleesh should choose our chickens. His expertise comes from a lifetime of looking at coqs. (Only way I could get it through the spam filters). Either that or he spent a great deal of time staring in the mirror. I rest my case m’lud.

No doubt I’ll now be slapped with a super injunction. It won’t be my first or at least attempted. My D list celebrity attempted to stop me taunting him in the newsletter, or posting the pix of him on Hollywood Boulevard dressed as an Oscar in flagrante delicto with a vuvuzela. And my A list “friend” has also attempted to have me banned from getting better tables. Loser.

Those of you who have wandered past the shop recently will have seen me working in the window. Vanity, I hear you all cry at once. OK, OK, I admit it, but not for the first time, my adoring public must be entertained. However the real reason, or at least the one I’m going to give you, is that you can actually see me working, because some of you had doubted me.

 

Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

December 2010 – Volpe Newsletter

I know you were expecting me to send this out before Christmas. OK, Sam, some of you weren’t. But then you’d have nothing to help you digest the turkey, and who knows, my sobering thoughts may even serve as a hangover cure.

And anyway, I expect a flurry of, ‘out of office’ replies by return.

Clearly, I know many of you don’t drink and those of you who tick the 21 units or fewer units a week option at the doctors will clamber on the wagon come January 2nd. You’ll all be back in the gym working off the last remnants of Christmas pud, not to mention the brandy butter, cream, etc. Starting to look a little green again, I see.

Well, hasn’t the year flown by?

There are those of you who ask how I manage to come up with this drivel month after month. To that I say: my friends, you are my inspiration. Meanwhile, keep doing what you’re doing and maybe you’ll get a mention. It’s just like the National Lottery but with better odds and the warm glow of recognition which is worth so much more than mere millions.

Between you and me there are things you could do to bump your chances and I’m keeping a Wikileaks-style file on the best. Naturally, it contains one or two items too depraved to mention here, but as Mae West said: ‘Keep a diary and one day it’ll be sure to keep you.’

Considering what I’ve posted in the past you’ll know that these will have been really bad, and in some cases involved a spell at Her Majesty’s pleasure. In the light of that getting a lifetime ban from an airline is nothing, so keep ‘em coming.

I suppose like those annuals you got as kids you’ll want a bumper Christmas edition full of goodies: things to tempt, things to shock, and perhaps the odd sugar mouse. Well that’s what I used to get, that and chocolate money. How do you think I manage to keep this business going? In the shop I have a two euro chocolate coin. It was left here three years ago and I’m surprised Carla hasn’t eaten it, but maybe she hasn’t found it. Meanwhile I’ve got a bet on which Euro will melt first.

I received a rather large tome for Christmas from my friend Karl. It’s a magnificent 35kilos of Ferrari Opus, so thank you to him. Now if only someone could help me move it. Any of you wanting to turn the pages will have wear gloves, hold your breath and probably take you shoes off too. And those of you thinking about presents for me, next year you’ll have to up your game.

I’ve been asked whether I’ll be Christmasing in Ibiza. The answer is no. Neil is in India, doing heaven knows what. He’s using Skype and the messages are intermittent so I can’t even pass on whether or not the new form of Buddhism he’s practising means he has to be kind to pigeons. But I do know he spent Christmas Day on a beach in Goa not wearing a pair of shorts I promised to have made for him in May. I will deal with the culprit in January.

This month it emerged that a family member is doing Sir Elton’s thatch. I can’t tell you any more than that because he signed a confidentiality agreement. But how much do you want to know about Elton’s thatch anyway? Unto Elton and David a child is born. And on Christmas Day too. What timing! And what a present! Wonder what they’re going to get next year? But truly, following my earlier comment, it’s not what I’m after.

Footie fans are never happy, even when they’re whining. I had poor Geordie Alan in here close to tears over the Alan Pardew affair – of course I mean the fact that he’s Newcastle’s new manager. I’d have a word with the owner, but he’d previously asked me to stay out of it when I intervened on behalf of the other Newcastle fan. I’d be crushed if I fell out with you, Mike. Possibly literally. Mike, you’re really quite cuddly and definitely misunderstood.

Now my other friend is starring in panto  playing Buttons in Cinderella at Abbott’s Bottom. I suppose he could be the Abbot’s Bottom, anyway, whichever way round it is, he will be convinced it’s the lead role. On another thespian note, stop giggling at the back, you’re not at school, this year we lost Barry, it was a great loss. Evenings with Barry and Ros were always entertaining, lively affairs, rarely sober and always raucous. Ros has continued to carry this torch forward, and at equally entertaining evening at The Attic, she said she’d given Barry’s clothes to the National Theatre. So, my panto friend is still no nearer to wearing Volpe.

They’ve been re running a load of old Robin Williams films on TV and it’s been like watching The Picture of Dorian Grey in reverse I admit there’s a small likeness…..no, Jake a small likeness, and if you say nanu, nanu again, there will be consequences.

Also before Jake brings it up, I am now to some degree an Apple convert. Obviously not as brainwashed as some, but I like my iPhone, and part of this newsletter was written on my iPad. Hopefully I’ll avoid chanting the mantra “Show me your Apps”. But the best part has been the X-mini speakers I bought, quite simply amazing. Highly recommended, I’ve bored everybody senseless about them. Once they get their hearing back. Only problem is I can’t get them to stay on in the gym. Look them up, you’ll understand.

Finally, I’d like to thank everyone at The Wolseley, my A list friend should be treated with the same disdain next year as this. Perhaps you could start turning him away. No room at the inn and all that.

Copyright © 2010 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.