A post with new stock will follow.
Sport appears to be imploding all around us and I wanted to wait a little for all the wailing, crying, backstabbing and recriminations to subside before commenting.
The strange game with the ball that is not round has finished, and we won what looks like a beautifully carved wooden spoon. So those of you who support other slightly less successful rugby teams, I can see you gazing on in envy…
A Welsh friend of mine who will remain nameless, Daffyd, his favourite flower being a daffydil, sent me a rather tasteless and pointless photo of a Welsh Dragon torching Twickenham. It makes a change of the last one he sent me of him surrounded by his sheep with the caption ‘My Hareem’. Revenge is a dish best served cold, apart from lamb, which I prefer pink!
I have spared his blushes and only posted the photo of the dragon.
And who’d have thought it 10/10 for the England footballers. Granted, not the most difficult group to qualify from, and my Nan’s Village Hall Eleven could have beaten Lithuania. Apparently Miles Storey may be spending his next loan session in my Nan’s team. So he will then have played at a City, a Town and a Village.
Young Mr Storey isn’t the only one getting around, Ibiza Neil is touring the Far East as ‘Emergency Tattoo Artist’ to David Morales and the crew. This I’m sure, is just in case mid set one of the DJs has a crisis of confidence and requires a little inkie touch up here or there.
I am a simple soul. So this made me smile.
I took the new, massively hyped iAdrianS on a gentle bender (test). No, not a gender test.
The current model’s power cells are topped up by solar power, which is obviously one of the reasons why I need to travel so much, I will chase the sun like Icarus. A ‘Supermoon’ every 30 years is not good enough.
I hope that we may be able to do away with the solar feature at some point in the future, otherwise we will struggle to sell any beyond the Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer given the summer we have had.
Scorpio and my name is Adrian
Now I don’t like a woman that’s quiet
A woman who carries herself like Mr Universe
Mmm take my hand
Come with me baby, to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing loving with me
Goodness me the absinthe is hanging around in my system! Float, float on…
Currently I am in talks with VW about a diesel powered version. They are little cagey about the data, but they have showered me with so many gifts, how could I say no?
A breakfast companion of mine is keen on getting her daily dose of Vitamin D, stripping off at the drop of a hat at the sun’s zenith, apparently whatever, wherever and whenever the moment takes her, she calls it her Martini moment, I know she’s not solar powered perhaps she’s just an exhibitionist, et moi?
This lady also thinks that I am some kind of exotic, international playboy!
I’ll have you know that this lady is not Lorraine Chase, firstly that was Cinzano not Martini, and secondly I don’t fly from Luton Airport unless I am sedated.
The iAdrianS test was to involve the unit taking part in yoga on Mallorca, so hopefully the hardware and software should work in unison, just in time to blow the bloody doors off in Ibiza, closing parties? Pah!
The yoga was organised through friends of mine who have Sardinia Yoga, they provide yoga breaks in various locations in the Med, not just Sardinia, just in case you thought the iAdrianS mapping system and location services weren’t functioning correctly.
The training aspect of the trip was to involve cycling, so I would have got my Lycra fix. Given how poor the summer has been, I’ve had to wear a fat suit under the Lycra to keep warm on the bike, not my usual svelte look.
And should I have a problem with the firmware, I’ve brought along a little Papa Smurf to help…
For those of you who think I may be losing it by taking up yoga, I will warn you that as always I have an ulterior motive. I have yet to work out what that is, but come the end I will have worked one out! I mean it’s not as if there will be semi-clad people contorting themselves into strange and exotic positions. So another night at the Piers Gaveston Society looks as though it is on the cards, and Dave will be having the Suckling Pig!
That is before he sinks his pearly whites into Jezza.
It’s not going to be a seven course menu degustazione is it? Or more likely, a particularly small ‘amuse bouche’, or one of those sorbets to de-glaze your mouth between courses. Given that all around him are laying into him with gusto he will be nice and tender. Grind his bones to make my bread.
The yoga went well between the thunder storms, yet the cycling and running didn’t happen, the weather put paid to that. I changed hotels and headed north towards Pollenca, bad idea, on so many levels…
I’d hoped for some good weather to put the iAdrianS through his paces, but it was dull and by the time I had finished dinner in a lovely restaurant called Marisco in Can Picafort it was raining, and then it began to properly rain. I made it back to the hotel to be greeted by International Line Dancing Week.
No really, it’s true. At any one time there were 100 German men and women shaking their thing to ‘My Achy Breaky Heart’; when out the line stepped Daisy Duke, or will his name be Duke Daisy, a transvestite of well over six feet tall dressed as a blonde cowgirl. OMG.
I was having a conversation on Whatsapp with a young lady at the time, she asked for photographic proof, now she wishes she hadn’t, and is still being treated for shock.
So this has turned into a rather long, rambling newsletter, and there is no stopping me now, gathering no lichen…
After a long, damp day in Florence, I hopped on a train and headed through the Apennines. I followed this with a very late night fighting over a steak with Emanuele Putin in a misty Bologna.
As I walked towards the mystic portal, light surrounded me, a wooden door creaked open and I was warmly greeted by Vladamir Addone. What happened next is the stuff of folklore that has become Drogheria della Rosa.
So “Blatter, Valke and Platini”, sounds like a pawnbrokers; have all been suspended for a short period. One of them is very short, period! A source tells me that they have been placed in a sack with a snake to fight amongst themselves, on a boat to Australia. Let them deal with the immigration fallout from that one, and again ooooooh Mr Bond once they run out of food they will only be able to eat one thing; rat.
Clearly I’m using the newsletter to gear up for the launch of SPECTRE.
A little bird has told me that the former Toronto mayor Rob Ford is being ‘lined up’ to succeed Cepp the mushroom. Once again I am just throwing jokes around like confetti. Oh, how you spoil us your Excellency.
As his Excellency I now have a Palazzo all to myself in Bologna.
Finally when travelling by air, look around you.
On our approach to Florence, the woman next to me started to get excited, talking in an animated fashion into to her earpiece, something about looking for a clue.
In a flash, the Lycra lady leapt to her feet, shouted “Eureka”, opened the door to the plane and jumped out. The last thing I saw was her rear disappearing into the fresh air.
At no point did I challenge Anneka!
Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.