My phone buzzed insistently in the dark. For goodness sake, now I’m awake, what do you want?
Fifty seven Whatsapp messages, from anonymous of Washington; apparently his boss doesn’t like the way he dresses! Has his boss taken a long look in a mirror recently? So I sent anonymous a single, supportive response. ‘Pull yourself together. Never wear clogs with a dress and it is not something worth resigning over’. Just don’t ‘Ask Andy’, I’m going back to sleep.
He hasn’t replied, job done!
Fashion advice Donald style!
So, what should I do now, go back to running the free world?
Scarymucci, Scarymucci do you do the Fandango?
Those are the benefits of running a business with friends in 119 countries, or as some of you would have it said, I’m a bloke with a hobby that allows him to just skip off around the world on a whim! Sorry that hurts, but you all still want to come back as me. Please join the back of the queue, it stretches back to the gates of Hades, where Old Nick stands weeping at the loss of his disciples, but he keeps busy by weeding out the stragglers.
It’s a cause and you need to be committed to it, or at least be committed to be in it. Perhaps I could be the leader of a cult, a little glitterati, it sounds so much more sinister than the leader of the gang I am!
I could have something here, I’m on a roll. Apparently it’s what is called momentum, however Jezza is using that one, perhaps he will start criticising Tom Watson’s suits. At this rate I might as well shut up shop with the number of people sticking their oar in to tell us how we should, or should not dress. I will run for office as a MEP, on second thoughts that horse has bolted and the stable door is closing fast.
Spotted in London the elusive Cannoli
The BBC has been forced to publish the salaries of all employees earning over £150,000, which means Jezza would not be on the list. On a personal note, I think all of those people from the BBC who shop here are worth every penny.
Jeremy uses trains a lot and he will be happy that they are talking about scrapping the elitist luxury of First Class travel on some journeys, not a bad premise as long as it’s not on the ones I want to use. I will need some private space to make my own small Hadron Collider, once completed I will be able to travel the Circle Line for an eternity as if in a vortex. A huge factor in my favour has been the removal of the doors from the carriages leaving my copies of my Bradshaw’s Model Slope Angle flashcards floating as if weightless and in perpetual motion.
These are not to be confused with Bradshaw’s 1913 edition with margin notes used by MP.
I am not the new Doctor, I will not be responsible for tardiness.
The new website is up and running, full of photos and with a video still to come, it is not and is never likely to be a trading website, but more a window into the world of clothing we make.
I must say a huge ‘Thank you’ to my close friend and model Kirk Newmann, and the producer and photographer James Nader of Visual Prestige Agency. The results speak for themselves, incredibly impressive and innovative work.
The blog and existing website will continue as is, there is a menu tag for the new website on the old and visa-versa.
Sadly for you lot I will continue to attempt to write.
Finally before a Newsletter, a thank you to each and every one of you who has made what I do so much fun. Without this I would not be doing a job I love and dealing with people I consider friends. ‘Thank you’ I’ll be coming back as me too!
So, without further ado.
Bet you wondered where I had got too!
Well, like Santa Claus I have been dealing with a very long list of requests.
The list stretches to the gates of Hades and almost to a man, or woman there was a theme. Why do you want to come back as me? It’s not as if I am a playboy of the status of Lapo Elkann. Who he you ask?
Lapo is the grandson of Gianni Agnelli, and don’t ask, who he? Look it up, I am not Wikipedia, I only write this and I still have to look things up!
Lapo is trying his hardest to keep up with me, but it seems like it snows all year round in his world, and where as the rest of us would have a minor tantrum if all was not well with the world, Lapo pretends he has been kidnapped, and with his well-documented issues of what seems real to him, well m’lud I rest my case.
Yet I still wonder why me?
Trips to exotic locations. Always on a plane with a party to go to, and to paraphrase a thousand songs “New York, St Tropez, Tokyo, Miami and Ibiza, da da da”.
I could be a songwriter and I can’t wait to become Interstellar star on Jupiter, Mars, Alpha Centauri, Zubenelgenubi, well U all know where this is disappearing!
Sheila from BA is plying me with champagne, ensuring that my fun levels are topped up. After all, everybody loves champagne…
I am Pitbull without the looks, off the leash and I’m not wearing a muzzle, I am celebrating, mazel tov!
As sure as eggs are eggs (thoughts are turning to Easter already?), Jake has reminded me that it is only a certified number of sleeps to Christmas, and if I hadn’t stopped him, he would have reeled off the number of hours, minutes, perhaps snowflakes before the auspicious day. He’s 33 years old and yet seems keener than a 10 year old and trying to deflect from the performance of his beloved Wolves.
OK, OK, perhaps I’m a jaded old trump, but I am tiring of the Americanisation of everything.
The hands across the sea relationship now seems like Uncle Sam has his hand in our back pocket and is rummaging around for our wallet.
Black Friday and Cyber Monday, what are they? An event crammed between Trick or Treat and the Nightmare before Christmas?
There is recount going on in 3 American States because of Vlad the Lad’s apparent handiwork, Hillary is personally recounting all the votes, one for me, one for me…
Hopefully it will take her four years.
I would believe in conspiracy, but the aluminium foil helmet and dongle I fashioned myself means I now have Blueteeth, and wifi streaming directly into my brain, the X-ray specs I bought out of the back of a comic as a kid aged seven are finally working!
Mr Assange has been inside my head, you didn’t stay long did you Jules? Heheheh!
Meanwhile Lord Farage of Brexeter, will be attempting to remove a friend of mine from his current position, no, no not our excellent Ambassador to the United States, mind you I’m sure Sir Kim might be happier if it were the case.
I can see Donald throwing these lavish White House parties where there will be a dress code and all the men have to wear these ridiculously long red ties, and not much else, which would probably be much more up Nige’s street.
However it is pantomime season and I received an email from my celebrity friend who has been remarkably quiet of late. I removed him from the mailing list at his behest because he had complained that my life seemed so much more fun than his, but it looks like he has been playing catch up via the website.
Well yes, of course it is, and when you are relegated to the horse’s arse it can feel a bit like pushing something uphill. However Nige is happy to take on this role as long as The Donald takes up the front end and the Pony Club can plait his mane.
Imagine it; The Donald and Nige doing dressage, like Crystal Tips and Alistair, it will be more like Doctor Dolittle’s Pushme-Pullyou, you could franchise it for TV, and call it ‘Ballroom Blitz’ compered by Mickey Mouse dressed as a magician and waving a wand. Couples could include….. Why don’t you think about it?
I’ll start you off with Jeremy Clarkson and James May; Michael Gove and Michael Gove, Dear SIlvio and Vlad the Lad…
Suggestions on the back of a stamped, addressed envelope, don’t forget to include one of the new fivers, tallow aren’t I!
Finally the travel section, well given the amount I travel it is long overdue. Well maybe in the bumper Christmas edition of he newsletter!
Please read to the end there will be some news that some of you may have been waiting for!
I have moved the information up the Newsletter as one or two of you were complaining that you were nodding off before the end!
The VOLPE Sale will start with previews from Wednesday 27th July 2016.
Right, so on with the important stuff.
So as the dust settles, tumbleweed rolls past the door.
A hosepipe ban is only hours away, we are basking in only the 4th day this year of over 25C, and according to Jake the year is nearly over.
They are frying eggs on the pavement… Easy-over there!
My mobile occasionally rings, I say occasionally.
When it isn’t a wrong number (stalkers from Italy), or a personal injury claim (of which I have several running at the moment, predominantly for my hurt feelings), it has been Theresa asking me to pop round and fix a cabinet, Jeremy to break up a fight in the school playground, Neptune to make him a new trident, or the FA ask for advice on how to dig a hole and then fill it in again, and again, and again.
Then there is the thud at the front door, do I dare to dream? Hollywood, a screenplay, a biopic, who would play me? I’d have to forget anyone who I ‘may’ have insulted through the magic that is this Newsletter, but as they are not named, they wouldn’t know.
The ‘D’ list definitely not, he’s done way too much Panto, and I don’t dress like Danny La Rue. Oh yes you do, Oh no I don’t. Stop!
Then there’s that other chap who got really hot and bothered by the photos of me in red Lycra. Given his physique, my vision of the romantic scenes would be of a wardrobe falling on someone, with the key still in, more cabinetmaker, than locksmith.
So it’s a case of who’s not working at the moment, and I must say it’s a bit of a struggle, as we have sadly lost a couple of candidates this year, we could have had me playing Prince, being me, but that’s just too weird even for me.
There are the usual suspects; Ryan Gosling, Ethan Hawke, Russell Crow or Jack Sparrow, even an avatar, but then I might get mistaken for a Pokemon. Go damn spot, go I say! Yet, who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him. I can hear Shakespeare a spinnin’, Macbeth versus Pokemon. “Lay on Macduff, and damned be him who first cries ‘Hold enough’!”
Ah! ‘Tempus Fugit’.
The maelstrom of political intrigue is threatening to engulf the holidays of our illustrious leaders and we are surrounded by those whose tousled locks are the stuff of legend.
Our Foreign Secretary who looks like he has been pulled through a hedge fund backwards following Brexit, The Donald whose hair is so swept over that there may be surfers trapped in there, and Uncle Bill whose split ends resulted in the most expensive haircut of all time, so spare thought as we are drawn towards le petit “Francois” who is clearly paying by instalments!
Will he be wearing a bathing cap to the beach this year, and what will be the repercussions for his coiffeur? After being paid €10,000 a month to deal with wee Franky’s helmet hair, how on earth will he banish those stray forehead tan lines and constant smell of rubber?
So whatever we feel about the gravy train, it will be followed by one carrying Hollandaise!
I’ve done a little more travelling. Aha! I hear you all exclaim at once, we were wondering how long it would take you to get there! I didn’t want to seem predictable and just rush in without a little foreplay.
I was back in Ibiza for an unveiling, well, less of an unveiling and more for a casting off. Neil had broken his wrist a month ago and finally the cast was removed. Finally God created man, and for those of you who thought I had yet more tattoos, this photo is of Neil’s hand!
Keep reading to the end!
And God created man
And the man’s genius is starting to head in a new direction.
Limited edition, hand engraved dials for a Milgauss.
We shared a long lunch under the umbrellas of the marina and on the wander back to town I spotted a Ferrari 458 hidden under a bleached cover, sheltering from the sun.
On the way to the airport and Rome for a little work, I stopped at Salinas for this.
I spent the evening in Rome with Max and his family, at the restaurant Il Moro with the owners Stefania and Simone.
Still one of my favourite places in the world to eat, and eat we did, to a standstill, until I could not eat another thing and just sit and watch the sun go down!
Let’s start with a photo of a lovely lady draped in fur!
Thank you Neil for the lovely photo of Scratch and many congratulations on the work with ProHunter.
ProHunter and Inkadelic
So on with business…
SPECTRE – Pah!
Jose Mourinho, I have nothing to say…
And now I have another stalker, a couple in fact. They are constantly pestering me, vying for my attention. Each time I pick up my phone or go to type on my laptop they are there. What can I help you with?
I have been toiling over the VAT despite the attentions of Siri and Cortana when I should be treading grapes, hopefully one may lead to the other and since I’ve started on note for those oenophiles amongst you, I will add a little sulphur, a splash of ‘amster and an ‘int of elderberries.
A big thank you those who turned up for the wine tasting. Vash was on fantastic form, not a barrel tossed or broken, the wines equally so, a solitary white amongst the wintry reds.
You may have read it, but if not there’s been a little buzz about Volpe, in the meja, so to speak. No, no, no, my behaviour has not made front page news yet again, but there is time and there is Hope, and her friends Faith and Chastity.
The Three Graces, and me the 3rd Duke of Wybourne in the Victoria and Albert Museum at 3am with my reputation. Oh daughters of Zeus save me from the gaze of Maggie, this Lady is not for turning!
Time Out and the Daily Mail have been keen to get my opinions on a whole gamut of news and social issues. So I’ll have to be careful what I say.
Should I knock the newsletter back a cog or two?
Do you really think so, or shall I continue as usual and try to “Blow the bloody doors orf”? As Cris my old school chum says, “It’s a bit too late to change”, he’s only 21 and in love. (Cris, you owe me a fiver).
I am still embroiled in my birthday celebrations and have no plans to shuffle off into the mists surrounding the moor quite yet. The party is just getting started. I will just hand Vash my glass, and like Tantalus I will be eternally tortured by the proximity of temptation…
The 4am parties will continue and there will be blurry photos of the London Eye as I try to beat the sunrise home. The whiff of sulphur will return, and the soft cushion of earth in my Transylvanian home will await me.
I feel like Claudius without the guile, avoiding Messalina who is armed with an axe, less Derek Jacobi and more Derek and The Dominoes. I’m losing this game to a bloke in a flat cap who keeps muttering into his wrist and bears a remarkable resemblance to Gary Kasparov, all his bones are doubles.
This might all sound a bit surreal, but the legacy of the little green fairy continues.
One my friends is a bit of a geezer, the kind of bloke who’d hang you by your ankles out of a ground floor hotel window, a little bit ‘Carny’, and not to be messed with. After sealing a recent business transaction, the other side in a show of mutual respect and appreciation ushered my friend to a lock-up in a slightly less salubrious part of town to furnish him with a gift, this gift was a full size merry-go-round horse, not just the head on a pillow. How an earth he’s going to get that home to Hong Kong I’ll never know, it’s not Pegasus!
Once again I have managed to shoehorn in Greek Mythology and more of Zeus’s dysfunctional offspring.
It seems a slightly better deal than another friend who’s just invested in 1/8th of a cow. Saw him coming, cow racing? I didn’t even think ‘cow tipping’ was a sport!
And then there’s another strange fellow who mixes his Martini’s on the engine of his Ferrari, there is a video on YouTube. Of course there is!
I feel as once again I have stepped into the pages of Alice in Sunderland. It said “Drink Me”, and so I did. I was immediately afflicted with ‘small man syndrome’, and although perfectly formed, so no change there, the glass that Vash is holding looks like a swimming pool, is that Raquel Welch waving at me from the inflatable stuffed olive? Sorry, must dash my Fantastic Voyage continues.
Finally, a bit of publicity, a good friend of mine Henry Blofeld (not the Bond villain, but Blowers of cricketing fame) and Peter Baxter, being ably supported by the lovely Valeria are touring their hilarious ‘Rogues on the Road’. Catch them whilst they are out and about, and if any of you do fancy anything Blower’s related there is always:
Apparently some of you would like to be reminded that we make garments to measure….
And a bit of eye candy, no, no, no, not Emi, it’s all about me, me, me!
Volpe Night Out
I mean around all my travelling, ducking and diving, you want me to work as well. I’ll have you know I didn’t get into this to have a job it’s more of a role according to Boris, and only a couple of hours a fortnight at that.
A few days in Ibiza here, a weekend in Rome there, it’s as if you are trying to cramp my style!
Anyway, talking of style here are some photos of some outfits that I have put together, in order that you might have some idea of what I will mainly be wearing this summer.
These photos have already made an appearance on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter for those of you who stalk me in such places.
We finally have a full range of summer fabrics for suits, jackets, shirts and beach towels. As it’s not warm enough for beach towels I’ll post those later. I know I’ll only get a slew of “out of office” from those of you who spend more time reclining on a beach than I do.
I’ll keep you abreast of my exploits and travels at another point as we are only a few days in, and don’t worry I’m storing it up.
Goodness, if I have to put up with Neil and Eugene fighting who has the greater column inches each time I write one of these things. Luckily neither on them would be seen dead in any of the things I am posting here!
And so you know it’s not just about jackets, because dahlinks they are so on trend! Heavens I must leave the little green fairee alone!
Look I’m only trying to sound down, and trendy with the kids, and their social media.
I wouldn’t want you to think that we’d forgotten about the suits…. the one above is particularly natty.
Finally here is a photo to show that I can sew. I know you only have my word for that, but I can and have in the past.
Me and the elves are capable of anything, suits, jackets, trousers, shirts, ties, socks, underwear, coats and anything else including beach towels, just ask!
I will defer to Bill Murray to finish, more or less.
When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Pimlico and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn’t imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.
February is a short month, but I’ve been getting it out a lot. I think this is the third time, lucky you.
I was in Rome, Bologna and Florence at the beginning of the week.
Once again I must raise a glass and an empty plate to those who watered and fed me. Simone, Stefania, Edy and Emanuele thank you all.
Emanuele thought we’d found a symbol on the tablecloth of the infamous crime organisation SCHMEER (The Secret Company of Huge Male Egos, Eccentrics and Rogues), but it was in fact a wine spill that looked like a scorpion.
However I was in Rome on a top secret mission, well not so top secret now. They are shooting the new Bond movie along the banks of the Tiber outside Max’s office. Why was I there you might ask?
Well as you ask, as Monica Bellucci’s stunt double. I’d hoped it would get me closer to her, but it only involved me wandering round in a slinky dress and wig trying to look alluring before I was arrested, then told to take my business elsewhere. By all accounts from behind we could be twins, that’s if she walked like Dick Emery.
These mild mannered trucks contain Bond’s Aston Martin and the villain’s Jaguar.
I will be back there to shoot more scenes very soon, as soon as the restraining order that Monica has against me expires. Oooooh “Restraining Order”, that’s so 50 Shades…….
Talking of “That’s So!” I have been deeply disturbed by the Money Supermarket advert of the twerking man in denim shorts. My dear Sir, have you not heard of Spanx?
However it was made infinitesimally worse by having DC’s head transposed onto the video. I’m now waking up nights from a nightmare imagining all sorts of people twerking at the end of my bed in denim shorts. No of course it’s not what’s really happening. There is a list of miscreants at the end of the Newsletter!
One of the items that the statistics offer me regarding these newsletters is the most popular searches and where the website has been opened from. No, not the exact address, but it allows me to see in which country on this planet it has been opened. So Sam, I have no idea if you are opening it on your way to Mars or just circumnavigating the globe.
Last week, imagine my surprise when one of the most popular searches for my newsletter, was “Bulging Tight Speedos”!!!
Well I wasn’t really surprised given my propensity for wearing Lycra. However at no point have I ever posted a photo of me in Speedos, not even in that Superman way of wearing his pants outside his trousers or undressing in a phone box.
However, closely related to the Speedo issue, a friend has been telling me because he wears designer stubble most of the time that he is starting to wear through the collars on his shirts fairly rapidly, but there is also a rather alarming side effect to this stubble beyond his problems with the collar.
Whilst swimming front crawl in his tight Speedos the stubble is giving him a nasty rash, on his shoulder, I hasten to add. Better that than a carpet burn on his chin. You know who you are, and in both cases, how it happened!
A friend, whose real name is not Natasha has moved back here from Germany to work once again for a friend of mine who is also not called Sergei. At this point I’ve lost track of where I am and who I am talking about, but I will bravely carry the story forward.
Oh yes, I remember! She shares a house with several gay men, goes to the gym and the sauna with the same said men who delight in pointing out the buff, semi-naked men around her are all of the same proclivity.
She has likened this to be being as frustrated as a kid in a candy shop with diabetes. Must be the German sense of humour!
But she has helped to solve the riddle about the whole beard thing, heavens I’m so stupid it’s all that hair around a pout, it’s so 70’s. Men move forward, try a Brazilian, a Hollywood, even a bit of glitter.
Finally before that list of people wearing denim.
A client from Texas has been telling me about their “Open Carry” Law. By that I thought that particularly ugly babies had to be wheeled round in closed top buggies. Apparently that’s not very nice and also incorrect. Well excuse me!
It pertains to the open carrying of weapons in public. He had been asking me if I could make him a walking cane with a thermal nuclear warhead in the tip. The handle is to house a trained Curare frog, which can fire darts made from its own poison, less of a killing machine and more of a personal statement.
Cute, but lethal
By all accounts gun crime there is on the way down, but it would be when everyone is walking round with a Sherman Tank on a lead!
Now for that list:
At number 1: Dave and Gideon (George, to you commoners)
2: Dear Silvio
3: Vladimir P
4: Donatella Versace
5: Madonna – If she could stay on her feet.
6: Robbie Williams
7: Francois Hollande and now I’m feeling ill, so I’m going to draw a line under this…….
February is that kind of month, sneeze and it’s gone.
For those of you who have had a cold, bless you, gesundheit, tomorrow is the first of March.
This is my mouthpiece to the world. Somewhere, where you can glean the most intimate details of my life, and OK, that of some of my mates, but I must admit I did have fun with this one.
Thanks Sunil, for the photos of you and most of the world’s top twenty ladies tennis players. How did you get them to do that, and haven’t some of them got boyfriends? Please be so kind as to illuminate me about your silken charms, and don’t fob me off with the old knock-about remark about your backhand. Next time can you try to get them to do a version of “Call me maybe”.
Mark, thanks for the ones of you. How they got through the spam filter, I will never know. And Michael, the ones of your children were a pleasant surprise.
I spent Chinese New Year with Wolf. He has recovered from having his email hacked, I haven’t, but that’s so last month. We said goodbye to the dragon and ushered in the snake, enjoyed some excellent food and entertainment, and I didn’t lose my shirt at majong. You know me, always looking for the opportunity to take it off.
Congratulations to Al and Victoria. They are getting married in June. You’ll all be using their apps soon.
I had an NHS health check. This was to make sure I had a heart, and that it was still beating, but we’ll come back to that later. However the nurse did ask me to take my shirt off. I think the comment, “haven’t you been a bad boy and didn’t that hurt!” was a little forward, but after she’d been revived, and we’d taken her blood pressure, all was calm again. We are still waiting for the results of my blood tests, but I can tell you now, I’m not sleeping well, up all night, a horrible itchy feeling in my teeth, I can’t face looking at myself in the mirror, and I may never go in the sun again. Who thought you’d ever hear me say that, but that’s the problem with vampires, never invite them in.
I’m back from my travels again. A visit to Bologna to see Emanuele and 3am finish for dinner. I didn’t know you could eat for that length of time. There is a photo where Emanuele has made the island of Sardinia out of a drop of wine; we then proceeded to drink the island dry. Then a short stop in Florence before Rome. I felt like a UN observer, there to oversee the elections, to make sure that all was fair and above board. Don’t know why I bothered, it is Italy after all, and it’s not as though they haven’t had an election before, I was surrounded by a frenzy of apathy!
Emanuele created Sardinia from a drop of wine.
If “Dear Silvio” and Beppe Grillo get together, we’re in for a real treat, apologies an M&M, it really will be a cabaret of epic proportions. A singer and a comdeian, who’d have thought, we could end up with Robbie Williams and the Krankies, add a psychologist; a Geordie, an interfering wife, and it could be a farce. That should upset Sig. Napolitano, he’ll cross the road the next time he sees me coming.
Ah yes, how prophetic, bella Roma; home of “la bocca della verita”, and “Dear Silvio”. He’ll be back, because he can’t stay away. He’s always in the background interfering, never happy with his lot, always trying to play with other peoples toys, and only happy when he’s broken them, or damaged them beyond repair.
He’s like the kid in the playground whose friendships rely solely upon how much bunga he throws around. Oh baby, shower me with euros!
Then there is Ill Papa (Sic.), we wish him well, but I wasn’t in Rome for an interview, I was just making smoke. Max and I ate in a restaurant near Castell Sant’Angelo where we were the only people who weren’t priests. They kept staring suspiciously at us, two men lunching alone together, who’d have thought it. Between you and me, I hear they’re considering Jose Mourinho. That should sort them out at the back, and the balcony speeches should be a little more robust and dramatic, perhaps even a little swooning from some of the ladies at the front. I’m just not sure how they’ll cope with the Yorkshire Terriers running around the Sistine Chapel.
I did learn a couple of new words. The first was “ingovernabile”, which was used to describe the Italian political system, and is pronounced with a sigh, in a way that describes just how tired they are with the whole thing. Then there is “imperdonabile”, which is pronounced with such venom that it makes unforgivable seem like a slap on the wrist. It’s a shame because I thought I could always forgive anything.
It has been suggested that I write a book about my colourful life. I would of course need to make huge chunks of it up. Yes it’s true I could hire a ghost writer or get someone to do that for me, but that’s already happened, much of which, as I’ve said before you couldn’t make up.
The book would require a beginning, a middle and an end, not to mention a story; a sub plot, a twist or two and a little Machiavele. Then a character or eight, mine are like a bag of snakes. All flawed of course, but I suppose it’s better to have several that are flawed, rather than none at all; a modern Kind Hearts and Coronets. Then you have to develop them. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so difficult, if I could get each of my personalities to write a chapter, it could be “The Decameron” based around the seven deadly sins, I could throw in a little humour, and then a sting in the tail. Like Chaucer, these characters can live an eternity in print, every boil, pimple and carbuncle. O dio, be still my beating heart.
Recently I have been breakfasting with Marie. She is great fun, and Jason always smiles, perhaps slightly jealous at the company I keep. I admit she is a couple of years older than me, but she’s in diamonds. You see, I really am shallow.
If I’m feeling slightly cultural, which is of course is never; it’s way too cerebral for me. Sorry, I had to think about that. I head to Covent Garden Market and listen to the opera singers, sing various arias. Some are fantastic, but I struggle to understand why others attempt some pieces at all. However there is always a CD to buy if you want to be reminded which particular cat they were strangling.
I was there last weekend, and in the main square there was a large steel heart and LOVE spelt out in large letters. It belonged to the British Heart Foundation, and padlocked to the heart and each letter were thousands of tiny metal hearts, each with its own message of love written by people from all over the world. I spent an age reading them, and I found it incredibly uplifting that love could be expressed in so many simple, but beautiful ways.
LOVE – British Heart Foundation
Each hearts cost £3 and the proceeds go to the British Heart Foundation. There was one among you who was worried about the functionality of my heart. Well after my check up, I am pleased to say that everything is working properly; there was no need to worry. Don’t believe everything you are told.
Thank you one and all for your kind words regarding my Oscar. It was for best supporting actor in a foreign film. I didn’t realise that when we started filming it would turn out to be such a drama, but I was Rowan Atkinson to Daniel Craig, Johnny English to James Bond. Jake will hate that one. Anyone want to buy a t-shirt? I’ve had thousands printed.
I have listed other suggestions below.
Oscars as they should have been:
Best Baddie: Dear Silvio
Best Goodie: Me, me, me
Best Goody Bag: The ones I give away – Think about it
Best Film adaptation of a Shakespeare play: A Tale between 2 Birthdays
Best Screenplay: Mine, mine, mine
Best Adaptation from a book: Seneca’s tragedies 1682
Best Musical Score: La Wally – Ebben! Ne Andro Lontana – Maria Callas
Most Out of Office replies: Sven – 8 in the last 12 months.
However I didn’t tell the truth about one thing. It was always 24, not 22. Rocco, vincero.
I will now leave this subject alone. We live in a world of our own making. Along the way we make mistakes, ma speriamo che non finisca male per nessuno. It’s not that youth is wasted on the young, it’s just we don’t realise we’ve f^#+~d up until it’s too late.
Before I start, it appears I have a lot to answer for, namely the weather. I shall quote from May’s 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?
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.”
I take it all back in the hope that summer might make an appearance. Currently I am suffering from “Trench Foot”, and I haven’t even been to any festivals. I pity those of you who have. No, not really, you’ll only have yourselves to blame. Off in search of drugs and alcohol, and a few cheap thrills.
Talking of this Jake went to see Bruce Springsteen, had his foot trodden on and headed for the exit before Paul McCartney. He curses about it to this day.
And Jake is finally taking a holiday. Wonders will never cease. He is headed for Spain, and a week of sun, sea and sand, and probably alcoholic poisoning. It will be an all-inclusive resort, which really means he will head for the pool, lie down and have a tube inserted into his mouth. Via this method his food and cocktails can be regularly administered without the need to voluntarily move a muscle. The gag reflex and peristalsis will see to that. Yes, I had to look them up as well. But hopefully he will return refreshed, ready to except the reality of life in the Championship , for a season before relegation means free fall to the Conference. At least he doesn’t support Rangers.
Sunil has been to see me, and we did lunch. I only do this about once a year, because I am a breakfast man, and yes, we all know where! However this time we went there for lunch and Jason nearly fell off his perch. Have you been away Jason? Private joke and it was not at Her Majesty’s pleasure. More a day release I think.
One of this month’s highlights was supplied by Sunil who kindly serenaded us in the shop on the piano, via the hands free speaker on our phone. The young man is clearly talented, or perhaps he has Jamie Cullum trapped in a box, not quite as implausible as it sounds. But a little Bach went a long way to soothing the savage beast.
I keep being drawn back to Italy; Florence, Pisa, Parma, Roma and Lucca, funny how they all sound like ****stars. Or perhaps the names of children from bohemian families who spend their summer basking in the villa in the hills outside Ibiza town; too spaced out to venture into the pool, let alone a trip (substance abuse related joke), to the beach. Do I sound jealous and bitter? Yes? Good because I am. I will not be in Ibiza this year again, the pressure of work will keep me here, and as they say, home is where the heart is.
The only consolation is that I am in Italy regularly to keep an eye on a current project, and I have stayed in some interesting places. I woke one morning to find a note pinned to my door, informing me in Italian to keep the noise down, I was embarrassing their children who couldn’t sleep. It was signed off with an angry face! Perhaps the visit of the waxer to my room was ill advised, but I didn’t think my howls of pain weren’t anything that their children hadn’t heard before. They’d obviously got the wrong room, and I had to have the note translated by the hotel who found it rather amusing. At least time I’d managed to avoid Madonna, she was in the room the other side of the family. I told you they had the wrong room.
There’s nought so queer as folk.
Well I’ve held off as long as possible.
The Olympics have started (or as unofficial sponsors have to refer to it – The Big Multi-National Sports Day).
I thought the opening ceremony was fantastic. We had Ken Branagh dressed as Abraham Lincoln (yes, some people were not listening to the commentary), The Queen doing her bit for herself and country (was she on her own secret service…?) and of course the dulcet tones of Macca to round off proceedings – I say dulcet as I had nodded off by this point.
I think we have won a Gold Medal in nearly every event but I am finding it hard to keep track, so dizzying is our success. All have been won by our illustrious leader “King Yong Cameron”. There was a moment, when instead of the Union Flag, the cross of St Andrew was displayed, but this was smoothed over like our great leader’s brow. His ability to be present at more than one event has meant that we lead the medal table. He has also been making up the numbers in the crowd at those events where there were empty seats, and he will be playing in the tennis doubles as well as handing the baton to himself in the relay. It is rumoured that he will hop the 100 metres with Gideon tied to his free leg to slow him down. His personal best for this event is 6.2 seconds, I pity poor Usain, who I am sure will withdraw to avoid the humiliation.
However the star attraction will be his appearance at the beach volleyball. He will stride like a lion from his back door, a young Sebastian Coe unable to keep pace with his majesty. DC’s tight Speedos enhancing his reputation as father to the nation, the sand between his toes, the sun on his back…….
Eeew, I can’t keep writing this, I’m feeling slightly nauseous.
Oh, by the way, in the midst of all this excitement, I completely forgot to mention to anyone that we’ve started our “Closing Down” sale. You know the one, the one where we’re not really closing down, but everyone thinks we are. Blame Dave for this.
Anyway, the sale is going on for a while and for the second successive year, I will be here for pretty much the whole time. Hang on, I’ve just realised why Jake’s booked a week off…
This is not being written on my new ipad3, as it is currently taking a cold shower. Apparently it is running very hot, or so I’m told. So back to the original.
OK, after last month’s panic, I should clear up a few things for those of you that were worried. Jason is not leaving The Wolseley, he will always be an omnipresent being, and Jake isn’t leaving either. Although Jake applied, he was not accepted for the job as Mick McCarthy’s replacement, nor the vacant England position. Cue more ranting on Twitter. What did I tell him about the cover for his iphone? It is official, Wolves are going down……
This month’s big news? Shirley is moving house. Well, yes she is, but better than that, she is with child and looks radiant. This not how she feels, or so she tells me. Now, I am not laying the blame at Jason’s door, but this is the third young lady who has been affected in this way, by his mere presence. Hens and eggs! Perhaps Jason could be dropped into areas of low population density and left to roam the streets like a “Lynx” advert.
He sat Jake and me opposite my celebrity nemesis this week for brekkie. Best tables in the house. A veritable boxers staring competition, would I stoop so low, would I heck? You know me better than that, moi, pass up a fight? It was like Zoolander, I was Ben Stiller to his Mugato. Yes, I know the other character is Owen Wilson, but Mugato bears a closer resemblance. I think my “Blue Steel” needs a little work, but I was victorious. At least I can turn right, unlike someone I know. Whilst driving a car they are unable to turn right across oncoming traffic. This has led to some horrific detours, taking them miles out of their way, even into neighbouring countries, just to pop down to the shops.
Girls, I expect to see Duran today. He will bring me my new rollerblades. Yes, I know I’m too old, but the need for speed and all that. Oh, vanity thy name is Adrian. He will however have his shirt on given that summer has now been and gone, so form an orderly queue.
The new wheels coincide with a new App for my iphone “Endomondo”, which I use for running, it is excellent, and there is a free version. So I’ll be out tomorrow laying down some mileage, or just lying in the road just moaning. Siri could call me an ambulance, it will make a change from calling me darling!
Michael is back from Miami, where he had a fantastic time. I can’t go into all the gory details, but whatever he did has severely affected his memory. As far as I can ascertain, he can remember leaving his friend’s home every evening, but the return journey appears to be missing, a man after my own heart. One staff member was leaping for joy upon Michael’s return, running round the shop, shouting Michael’s back, Michael’s back. Well he’d promised to bring back “Jelly Beans”. He did not disappoint, bags full of them, we’re all feeling slightly sick now.
He is swapping jobs, and was hoping for a few months gardening leave. All kinds of extravagances were arranged. The release of a thousand doves, a week of intense massage on a beach in paradise, learning to make “Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut”, because, and I quote “I love cheap chocolate”. Well with his taste in other things, obviously he has to cut back somewhere. Unfortunately this story does not have a “happy ending”! He is being made to work his notice, not a happy bunny.
His mood improved after he was presented with a little gift I found him in Rome. As he said, “They are so me”! Fur-lined driving shoes, I was so hoping that he wouldn’t like them so I could have them for myself, no such luck.
Talking of Rome, I was back there last week. I realise that you all feel that I am solely a creative being and my hands have never seen a hard days work. I put it down to mild green “Fairy Liquid”. I stayed somewhere new, for the first and last time. The photos promised so much, and like an online dating site delivered so little. Considering traffic is barred from so many streets in central Rome, it is the noisiest place I have ever stayed in. It required 4 separate keys to enter the room from the street, the last of which to the room, was a wardrobe key. A further key was required to get into the breakfast area, which appeared to be run automatically, as I never saw another sole. Where on my attire I was going to find room for such a large bunch of keys, proved to be a massive challenge.
The bathroom was so dark, yes, even with the lights on shaving was a bit of a cut and thrust affair, and was the location of the only mirror. At no point could I view myself full length. Oh stop sniggering!
Don’t forget, if you would like to relive my past glories, or even find where you may (or may not) have been mentioned in a newsletter, visit www.volpeblog.wordpress.com for a trip down Memory Lane. Or Amnesia Avenue.
Yes, a little Halloween humour, and as you know the newsletter is more trick than treat
And tomorrow is my birthday. Yes, All Saints Day and 21 again.
No wise cracks please.
I had hoped that writing the newsletter would have cured me of my insomnia, but the worry of trying to be amusing month after month is taking its toll, keeping me awake night after night, also worrying where my new ipad2 is. The original ipad has no space left for Apps, and why is it the App I want is always on page 83 of my screens?
One morning after my workout with OT, I returned to the shop to find the door unlocked and the lights on. Most days I go into the shop early, just to switch a few things on and check emails, just in case any of you are up that early, before I head off for breakfast or the gym. But I never leave the lights on and the door unlocked. As I peered in through the door I could make out Jake’s unshaven features. He had arrived very early, 9am, and was waiting to take delivery of his iphone 4S. If this is what it takes to get him out of bed in the mornings, it is going to be a very expensive process. The waiting was finally rewarded the phone was delivered at 3.17pm. However the worst part of it? He has a Wolves shiny gold case (looking slightly duller as each result rolls in – Jake wrote this bit, so don’t complain that I’m giving him a hard time).
And he now only appears concerned with the number of sleeps until Christmas. Does this mean he doesn’t intend to sleep after Christmas?
At breakfast the other morning, Jason at The Wolseley was sharing a little gossip regarding him and Shirley, she is delightful. Don’t I sound like Michael Winner? The day before they had been out to check on the competition, well you know how it is when the day lasts a little longer than it should, but I really think you both are a bad influence on each other and only have each other to blame. I will say no more!
I have also seen Adam’s Ann (Break into a chorus of Prince Charming, Prince Charming) from Cuckoo’s Knob, and what a pleasure it was too. Oh, never mind, am I the only one who remembers the eighties? But it looks like I’m showing my age. Ann appears to be well on the mend, apart from the dizzy spells, and suddenly I am reminded of Friday.
For the mathematicians amongst you, I have been going to a Wine Bar in Leicester Square on and off for about 30 years. I have seen all the managers drunk, and they may have seen me occasionally worse for wear, but Vash the current manager is one of my best friends and I would like to take this opportunity to wish him a Happy Birthday, and he can have Saturday morning’s hangover back. Don, the previous owner of this fine establishment always espoused that life was too short to drink bad wine. Quantity, never quality was always going to be my downfall.
Last week I was back in Rome. Life is hard I hear you say in unison, but the highlight was hopping on a train to Bologna, so I didn’t have to fly back from Fumicino. After visiting a supplier, I had just enough time to visit a chocolate shop called Roccati before returning. Quite excellent chocolate made on the premises and you can see them making it. Apparently Dear Silvio loves it in here, but then you know the old expression about being made out of chocolate. Eeewwwww. Banish the thought Silvio. I always spend far too much money, but I think once every six months is OK.
The clocks have gone back….. For heaven’s sake, Ann has just sent me an email. Will I never get this newsletter finished? I thought the extra hour would give me more time, but I can see I’m going to have to head for the International Date Line, in order to create myself a few extra hours. The International Date Line is not what some of you might think, it is not some chat line to arrange some sort of Bunga Bunga party. What do you take me for?
And as for the passing of Jimmy Saville, when will somebody say what they really think?