A newsletter to herald the beginning of Autumn – September 2017

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

 

Copyright © 2017 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

 

August Bank Holiday Newsletter 2015

So let’s open this month with the closure of the transfer window.

You could say a window closes only for a trapdoor to open to others, and a ‘lock in’ for one David who has met his De Goliath. For some it’s been the dream of a lifetime, but it’s seems for a few it has been a coat of technicolour nightmares.

The sums of money involved may only buy a small pied-a-terre in Clapham, and apparently this is where David de Gea will be spending his season after getting his foot trapped in the revolving door that is the transfer window.

Perhaps Real Madrid misunderstood the mañana culture, and thought tomorrow was another day.

United now have more goalkeepers than strikers, Chelsea have… Well no-one of any consequence, OK, OK a donkey called Pedro, and are the fans falling out of love with Jose?

A friend has stopped sleeping in her onesie such is her displeasure, and she loved Jose, a love that she hoped that would endure beyond Christmas, as a manger is not just for Christmas. Manchester City have already won the title now they have disposed of Edin Djecko.

So far, I have not mentioned one English player or coach in that last little histoire.

So spare a thought for the youth of today, because children are our future, a good example being Miles Storey. Who he? You might ask. Born and raised in West Bromwich, not the greatest start in life, but the under-19 England International who doesn’t seem to have been able to get his feet under a breakfast table anywhere. Out on loan at Salisbury City, Shrewsbury Town, Portsmouth, Newport County, but no Village Hall side, he has now been loaned to footballs equivalent of Siberia, Inverness Caledonian Thistle. He’s not even the club doctor! Proving that being a professional footballer isn’t all about the glamour!

Perhaps he could join the 9 sperm donors at Britain’s Sperm Bank, by all accounts they are all referees, well you know how the song goes.

Our bank is sorely lacking in donors since the law was changed so that the identity of the donor can be disclosed. Back to the song!

We are being encouraged to do it the way the Danish do it; what do they do differently?They proudly say, this is the Viking invasion, exports from Denmark are beer, Lego and sperm. It’s a source of pride.

They left out bacon and associated pork products, and I am reminded of Rebecca Loos. At least the French only replaced steak with horse meat. Think of the Danish consequences!

We are surrounded by the titans of Northern Europe. The Danes and their banking system, the Germans and their sausages and the grandest saveloy of them all Vladimir Putin.

A small group of scientists are holed up in a cabin inside the Arctic Circle, trapped by an aurora of Polar Bears walking around growling outside, not a laughing matter, the scientists are only armed with only a flare gun and ‘pooh sticks’, which has not struck the fear of God into the bears.

However the scientist’s plight is about to get worse. It’s a slow news day in Russia, and Vlad has seen another photo opportunity to raise his masculinity to new heights, he is headed off to save the scientists and wrestle shirtless with the Polar Bears.

Goodness, I hope none of the bears are Gay, you know Vlad’s thoughts on that, and Darren’s bear hunting joke. It’s just reminded me of the end of the film ‘Trading Places’!

I have been away for a few days, not my usual Ibiza month long Party, Party, Party. I spent this time meditating in solitude, high in the hills in Mallorca. My monastic existence involved me walking down to a “beach” on a spur of land called Foradada, 5km away and 450m below.

Foradada

Foradada

I donned my aged and trusty Five Fingers, and headed out. Down and down through the lush pine forest I descended, the dusty, pebbled path in 35C heat was quite pleasant, but the Five Fingers weren’t ideal for this.

After nearly an hour I arrived at the cove, to find quite a large restaurant. Lunch I thought. I asked the waiter if there was room for a solitary, weary traveller. “I’m sorry Sir, we are fully booked, but you can have a drink at the bar”, he replied. I was slightly taken aback, I’m pretty fit and although I do possess some Super-Human powers (see last newsletter), it was a tough walk down, but was going to be a much tougher walk back after lunch. How were they going to fill all those tables?

“All our clients arrive by boat”, he explained.

Invigorated by a coffee and a beer, I decided I would jog back to the top!

http://www.saforadada.com

After my physical exertions, I descended onto the flatter parts of the island in search further peace and quiet, and one of my favourite vinicolas, 4Kilos in Felatnitx. They produce a fabulous red wine called 12 Volts.

4 kilos

4 kilos

Then it was onto Pollenca to discuss with our decorator the required elements for the new cycling venture we are preparing as Winter base for you all. Perhaps ‘Team Volpe’ will soon be rivalling Sky?

Later that day I wandered along a white, sandy beach, turquoise water to my right…….hundreds of yards of nature ists to my left! My karma was left in tatters, why is it those who shouldn’t be, are?

I escaped into Palma to have dinner with Ivan, Alvaro and Lara. Ian and Lara have set up a lovely Vinoteca in Carrer de Pou, called ‘Wine Industry’, stocked with predominantly local wines and great food. I have known Ivan and Alvaro for many years, form the heady days of Guaraña at Salinas, when Alvaro was a hairdresser! Private joke at Ivan’s expense, and when Martin watching was all the girls favourite pastime. It was like watching dominoes turning as he strode along the beach.

Wine Industry

Wine Industry

Earlier in the month I embarked upon a Roman Holiday. Well I wandered down to Somerset House with friends and lay on the cold cobbles to watch the film.

Roman Holiday

Roman Holiday

Beneath brooding skies.

Brooding Skies

Brooding Skies

And that is my last word on our summer. Blink and you’ll miss it!

I shall end with my 10 favourite collective nouns:

1: A class of students

2: A mob of kangaroos

3: A murder of lawyers

4: A wad of bills

5: A phantasmagoria of phantoms

6: A shrivel of critics

7: A flight of stairs

8: An illusion of magicians

9: A den of thieves

10: A disguising of tailors

Splinter

Splinter

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.