Well dear Rob has left us to set up his guest house in Fez (Morocco, for those of you who didn’t pass geography). Apparently he always read the newsletters, and by all accounts enjoyed them. Are there no levels to which people will not stoop for a mention? I wish him very good luck, he deserves you all to go and visit him, and once he is set up I will pass on the details. His place has been taken at The Wolseley by Jayne, who admitted to me she was a little worried she wouldn’t receive the newsletter. Because although Rob had been enjoying them, I feel it had been a solitary pleasure. But Jayne have no fear, you even get a mention.
The footie season is upon us again, and for those of you who play fantasy football I’m yet to work out where the fantasy ends and reality begins. Don’t do as Jake has done and pick the entire Wolves team, pleased as punch to get it in under budget and then likely to sink without trace. David, on the other hand, can’t understand that there is a cap on the value of the team, but then he is a Chelsea supporter and hence no sense of value for money. Fashion note: he’s still wearing his shorts but teamed with a fetching pair of Volpe driving shoes, now sadly beyond repair.
Mark Williams is a good friend (and since we are plugging, owns a courier business). He has expressed his joy at receiving the news letter, but what makes him different to you whingers out there, is that he reads them on his Blackberry with no problem. So the rest of you can grow up.
I am of course lying on a sun-lounger on a beach in Ibiza, flunkies running hither and thither, seeing to my every need. The newsletter is being dictated (Mark H, it’s not what you think) to my less enthusiastic PA. She hangs on my every word, with a look that suggests it may be my last. The more observant of you may have noticed that the chairs in the shop are only for customers; staff are expected to stand and make themselves look busy.
I do it myself but I’m on holiday and I’m giving my gout a rest. But she can stand, and I don’t care if the sand is burning her feet. She should have thought better than to bring Birkenstocks which I confiscated immediately for being dreadful.
Really, the staff should know their place, and if not should expect a damn good thrashing. When I get back the first thing I’m going to do is call little Nick Clegg who has been given the special task of taking calls from the public about laws that particularly bother them. In my first job being singled out for that kind of attention was more a subtle form of punishment than honour.
I’m taking to this new coalition and its sharp-elbowed middle-classness.
I, of course am not Staycationing in Cornwall, you know one rule for me, and a different one for everybody else. But if you were to, I know you can feel a plug coming on, you could do worse than to visit Sennen Cove where my friend Pat Dowling has a restaurant and surf shop right on the beach.
This is going to be a long news letter.
At this moment (could be any time of day or night because we’re 24 hour party people) I’m sitting in a square in Ibiza with Neil who is giving me grief over the following; not appearing in the last newsletter, a particular shape of glass that a green cocktail has arrived in which signifies everything that’s wrong with the world, and more importantly backing out of having my tattoo on my last visit.
“Pussy whipped” is the expression he used, whilst demonstrating his own manliness by giving me Ray Mears-style survival advice involving finding north by closely examining lichen and how to tell how many hours of daylight are left without a watch. Why anyone wouldn’t have a watch is beyond me. He is of course, artistic but tells the time by use of a mobile.
Later……the conversation turns to ebay. Now Neil and I both use it from time to time, but when I explained I used a sniping tool, Neil nearly fell off his chair with rage. All those hours he has spent waiting and waiting, staying up into the small hours with the help of some Pro-Plus only to be outbid in the dying seconds by someone who’s tucked up in bed using technology to do the dirty work.
I tried to explain that this was progress like penicillin and the wheel, but to Neil, it was CHEATING.
I resolve in future to take a lot of drugs and stay awake……like those of you at the back.
Neil is a peaceful man interested in Buddhism and Tibet. But we have seen a darker side in his battle with the pigeons, who want to share his apartment breaking glasses and crashing into the ceiling fan like the kind of lively guests we all get from time to time.
He has bought an air rifle and is exacting terrible revenge. I suggested a balaclava to complete the look but in orange to protect his Karma.
More to follow…..
Copyright © 2010 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.