This one will be easier to understand, I am too tired to be cryptic, and I’ve put a few photos on the blog site. You know a picture paints a thousand words, and all that!
It had been a toss-up between surf and ski, but given all the cold weather we’ve had, it wasn’t a difficult choice.
So I’m back from Ibiza, and I used Ryanair €17. Don’t know what I was moaning about, sadly Stansted isn’t exactly on my doorstep. The worst part of the journey was the one hour and fifteen minutes it took to get through border control this end!
Anyway, I got the job done. Shoes were collected, tattooing underway, fitting done, and now I can sleep soundly, probably for a week after Sunday’s villa party.
The villa was like all villas in Ibiza, at the end of a very long gravel track. It had started to rain when we arrived, and when we left at 5.30 am it was still raining, but this is Ibiza where nothing stops a good party and it was a very good party.
Eugene went out to take some air, and whilst wandering round the garden managed to disconnect the power supply, and all the lights went out at Pacha, 10 miles away! Neil managed to lose his special red bandana (towel) that was wrapped round his head, and me? Well, I was wandering sideways like a crab. I would insert a photo here, but at this point we were a little too far gone.
A big thank you to the guy who drove us home, it was one of the random acts of kindness. OK, it involved a long walk down another gravel track in search of a car, but we got there in the end.
Once home, Neil went to sleep on the sofa, Ina went to bed, and Eugene and I climbed up to roof terrace to watch the sun come up (it had stopped raining), and to drink a little more! Here is a photo of Eugene emulating Icarus. I ended up going to sleep at 8am.
But we were up fresh as daisies at midday to go for lunch, and off we headed to Cala Jondal for a bite on the beach. The sun came out; it warmed up, 22C and a bit of a breeze. Jealous, I would be!
Scratch joined up with us for dinner, she’d sensibly slept through the rest of the partying. Just as well, she might have found the pool at the villa a little too tempting!
You may think that suddenly I’m posting loads of photos of my exploits on the blog site. Let me remind you it is mine and I can do what I want.
So I will leave you with one last photo, which to me encapsulates (I did spell check it), Ibiza and that amongst all the mayhem, some beauty remains. Since I was last there some restaurants have closed, some more clubs have opened, but the essence of the island remains. You just need to get away from the hustle and bustle.
And I will leave you with one last thought. If certain substances are your flavour, be warned, a friend of mine who has a house in the centre of Ibiza saw a local person scraping white paint off a wall with a car key, not everything is what it seems! Do you think it would get you plastered?
Let’s get the weather out of the way first. It has been very, very cold and very, very grey and I know we are all fed up with it. Those of you who have managed to get away will mean once again I am deluged with “Out of Office” replies.
However have you thought that the minute the sun bursts forth, the too tight t-shirt, Birkenstocks, shorts and hairy leg brigade will be out in force? Not in such a hurry for the first shafts of sunlight now methinks.
OK, so I’m getting this one out a little early, but I’m off to Ibiza, and given the state I might be in, it might make even less sense than normal. Is that an incredible Burt Wonderstone mushroom I see before me? Quick call the police. On second thoughts no, the first two albums were OK, but then Stu started chucking drumsticks. Good shot! I will never play their music in the shop again. Well apart from Peanuts, but I have my reasons.
For those of you who read and remember my newsletters, my ‘D’ list celebrity friend is now a street artist on the island. There is a little patch of concrete by the marina where he plies his trade. He will be painted aubergine it’s this summer’s hot colour! He just lies there prone like a strange shaped vegetable, either that or he fell asleep and people started dropping coins onto his pile of clothes. He was trying to fashion one of those ‘fakir’ poses whereby he looked suspended in mid-air, but then the stick broke! Gone are the days of Panto, glitter and glamour.
Remember, I have no ‘A’ or ‘B’ list celebrity friends or customers, but we did have someone wear one our suits in “Skyfall”. It was only confirmed recently so I didn’t want to tempt fate.
To some it may seem I am a little too loose tongued in my newsletters, but I choose my topics carefully. I have a huge ego, so it’s all about me as you know too well, and now I have started a book about my colourful life. I shall not be inviting Wazzer Rooney to ghost write it.
Ibiza you ask. Well, I gave in, I was going to leave this trip until the end of May, but given the weather here, I couldn’t delay it any longer. It is for work! We are tattooing leather for a couple of clients, so I’m going to drop some off and pick some up, and do a fitting for a suit. Neil is carving skulls, plus clouds, some lotus flowers, perhaps even a butterfly into the shoes of the good and the great.
Charlie will be so pleased to get his shoes back, that’s such an Ibiza name isn’t it? Photos will be available on the blog, and on Facebook, for those of you who are allowed accounts.
I may add to my collection, but the customer always comes first. In my case it will not be shoes, it will be tattoos of the flesh. Neil thinks my latest design is a little effeminate, not the word he used, but I think this way is a little more polite. I’ll run it past Eugene he’s driven down from Copenhagen to spend a few days. There is a bar in the marina where a drink is named after him, and after my last visit when we were all together in September, I have absolutely no idea what it was called, or maybe I just can’t remember! If I call you at 5am to wake you, just ignore me.
One thing I can guarantee is that we won’t be sleeping a lot, but will I don the mankini? I think it will be Pacha, Amnesia, Pacha, Amnesia, Pacha, Amnesia. Sorry where was I? Then I won’t be able to pass up a foam party, and head off delirious to DC10 where I shall jump up and down trying to grab the undercarriage of incoming planes. You know I’m high on life.
Stop press…. Mateo can’t make it he will be spending Easter with the lovely Cristina, so the mankini will be mine! But, Martin from Argentina will be there, now the wheels will certainly come off. I have photos of him snorkelling in the snow in Verbier, wearing nothing more than a smile. At least that’s what it seemed like, but it was hard to tell it was so cold and he was face down. As a very good friend of mine would say “Bere”, it’s a great shame that on this occasion she won’t be joining us, hopefully next time.
I’ll be back Tuesday night, with Ryanair!!!!!! I know, never say never. It was the only way I could get back to meet some friends who are coming from Italy for a month to learn English, but I will not be teaching them, I shall leave that to a professional.
With regard to last month, some of you were a little confused about the 24 not 22 comment, and one or two of you gave some quite surprising suggestions. Let me lay rumours to rest. The 24 bus takes me from home to Vash and back again, and the 22 goes past The Wolseley, I use the 24 not the 22. Thank you for the flattering remarks.
I supply the newsletter in printed form, in a plain brown envelope to one particular lady (she views me as her toy boy, she is after all hmmmm years old), because she says, and I quote “she finds them a little racy”. Once read they are shredded so hubby doesn’t see them. Well hush my mouth I didn’t think I was being that particular shade of grey. Let’s just hope she can cope with the book I’ve just given her as a present.
And finally and this is not a joke. We are now offering a new service we are hand washing and finishing your knitwear, so you can store all your cashmere and merino wool for the summer months, when they finally arrive. There will be a small charge, but I know that many of you are a little worried by the prospect of looking after your cashmere, so I thought this might help you.
To err is human to forgive is? Well sometimes forgiveness is deserved, sometimes earned, but should be given with an open heart. Gandhi said that the weak can never forgive; forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
Photographs of the trip will follow upon my return!
This is a long one. Best to get that out of the way to begin with!
So much has happened this month. My, my, haven’t you all been so busy. It must mean the economy is on the way back, or you’ve all got so bored that some of you are actually doing something, asides from working.
Anyway, my plan was to meet up with Sam in the Cathay Lounge at Heathrow, we’d start drinking and continue until we were scraped onto the tarmac in Hong Kong. And if Mark had come along, we may never have survived the flight. Oh well, best laid plan of mice and men. Sam changed his plans and has headed for Paris. However, on the slight chance we both are in Hong Kong at the same time, we will try and do something en famile…
OK, slight problem, should I start again or just continue? Sam didn’t go to Paris, we are on the same flight, but as of yet we haven’t started drinking. I think we’ll take it easy and relax and catch up. We’re both going to have some work to do, and how else am I going to get the newsletter out? It is great to have Sam along, even if it’s so he can’t complain that it may be late. At least this time it might be his fault!!!
Anyway, I’m on the plane and only 11 hours to save the world! OK, OK to write the newsletter. It’s just that the former sounds so much more dramatic, and you know how I like a drama. And now the damn seat is broken, it’s completely flat and I’ve got to go and stand in the galley whilst they try to fix it at 2am, in the dark, with a toothpick. I should be catching up on my beauty sleep, wrapped up in my duvet, in my own individual little booth.
What am I doing in Hong Kong? I hear you all ask in unison.
Am I standing on top of a tall building in a typhoon? No really, you should see the video. A typhoon No. 8 signal passed through, so after dinner we strolled up onto the roof at David Tang’s Bank of China Restaurant to watch the passing typhoon. I was Batman to Hong Kong’s Gotham City. Oh, Adrian do get over yourself and the fantasy world in which you live.
No really; working is my response. Not to find new suppliers, as someone cruelly suggested. I am doing this for a friend who trusts my judgement. He has asked me out here to make suits for his wedding. Mountain brought to Mohamed, perhaps. Fool? Clearly, but I won’t have a word said against him, and his fiancé has made it clear that she thinks I’m completely mad or worse. We’ve met, only the once, and since then she has avoided me. It was the pale blue suede jacket for a stag weekend he was going to in Ibiza that did it, very “Miami Vice”. Well it would, wouldn’t it?
I did put him Neil’s way if he was in need of a tattoo. Talking of Neil, there was a picture of him and Scratch (his faithful canine companion) on Facebook, sunning themselves on a beach. He said he was only there a couple of hours, but I did notice a darker hue to his skin whilst chatting on Skype. He can still be such a rebel. I shall try to get there at some point and have my name engraved somewhere so I don’t forget who I am. Neil doesn’t do “shades”, nothing beats a good glare, and Neil can glare with the best of them. Sometimes I think he really enjoys scaring prospective customers by staring at them, or it might be a test. If they can withstand his withering glance, then they are able to the pain that will follow as he wields his needle!
Sadly Neil will be in London this weekend, at some celeb wedding or other. So we will miss each other. He will arrive with Ryanair, and stay in a tent in a field, I will not. He didn’t like that. I didn’t realise he was getting married.
I was in Florence 2 weeks ago for Pitti Uomo, a menswear trade fair. Given my comments about the state and price of accommodation there in the past, I was pleasantly surprised. OK, I happened to be staying there at the same time as Madonna, who I must say made a real pest of herself, by knocking on my door all hours of the day and night, a la Peter Cook and Dudley Moore.
I stayed in a very inexpensive bed and breakfast called Relais del Duomo. It was great, even though it was 36C outside, I didn’t even need to use the air conditioning! Clean and tidy, central and importantly very quiet, well apart from the bells of the Duomo. Really, if I want to be woken at that time I have Sunil. He, who lives in a different time zone to the rest of the world, compiled of 24 hours of work and 1 hour of sleep. Except Sunil don’t live int shoebox int middle ot road (Yorkshire accent). I normally set the alarm to wake me, but Sunil can be guaranteed to pre-empt it by at least a couple of hours.
Now I have a recommendation for you if you are travelling to Florence, it is a restaurant called “Trattoria Gabriello” and it is in via della Condotta. The owner Rita is wonderful. It seems to be one of the few original trattorias left in the centre, and at least there were some locals eating there, and not just infested by tourists like myself. I’m a snob like that, always a tourist, never a traveller. I ate there on Tuesday and the food is simple, and well cooked. She was being helped by her best friend Alessandra. We should all have friends like Alessandra, she took the time to talk to, and make everyone feel very welcome, whilst helping Rita because she wants to. Perhaps “Ale” is not the best waitress in the world, but she has other skills, she says she is working on her English, I feel, that with a little practice she’ll be fine. She also says she is a great driver, the scar on her forehead and the photo of her “totalled” Porsche on her phone may tell a different story!
Dear Michael was in Italy at the same time as part of his gardening leave. He went to Naples to see some friends and improve his Italian. We would chat by text, his main preoccupations appeared to be the heat, and why he wasn’t going brown. The feet of an albino cadaver were the words he used on the day before he left. However, I feel the highlight of his trip was the fact that these feet and his legs made a cameo appearance alongside Rod Stewart and Penny Lancaster in the Daily Mail, now only if they lived next door to him, what treats would lie in store for them!
Michael also has a very sweet tooth, but he is a cheap choccie kind of man, more “Fruit & Nut” than “Charbonnet and Walker”, and that says more about Michael than you can imagine. But he arrived back in London clutching a box of chocolates for us from a shop in Naples called “Gay Odin”. As Gillian said, I’m not sure what the Norse God’s reaction to being called gay would be.
Now in every box of chocolates, there is always one! This box, full of Michael’s specially selected goodies contained the worst chocolate I have ever tasted. Each of us who tasted it, curious to the others reaction, was the same. It was made of dark chocolate, so no problem there, but when you bit into it, your mouth was filled with Brut 33. It tasted like the after shave and it smelt like the after shave, all that was missing was Henry Cooper saying “Go on son, stop coughing, it looks like you’ll splash it all over”.
In Italy they put liquers into all sorts of strange shaped bottles in order to trick you into buying them. Being from Naples I expected this chocolate to be filled with Limoncello, not Brut.
After reaching for and finding the wrong bottle to fill this handmade confection, perhaps Giacomo is out on a date somewhere, the faint smell of lemons upon his cheeks. I must ask Michael which he prefers.
And finally congratulations are in order to Eugenia for getting engaged, I know she will be very happy, and finally to Greg the “Cougar Magnet” as well. He has found someone younger to be with and Farah is beautiful. What did you put in her drink, I must try it myself…..
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.
Sam did rise to last month’s challenge. I was bombarded with page after page of boarding passes, like Leveson enquiry emails, I was starting to feel quite travel sick. However, if I was flying Ryanair, and you know I won’t be, there will be no sick bag. Michael O’Leary tells us that his flights are so smooth and on time, that this renders the sick bag redundant. Perhaps the majority of his passengers have been on “Stag” weekends in near flung places? Last night’s goulash, borscht, etc. are in a gutter somewhere, and they have nothing left for the flight.
Apologies to those of you enjoying breakfast, but I’m sure this saved Mikey a few euros. Excuse me for a moment, nature calls, and I have to give Jake a drachma to use the bathroom. Well, Wolves do need a new striker, midfielder, defender, or team? Please delete as appropriate.
Amidst all the turmoil, one or two of you are still managing to get out there and “splash the cash”. More than one of you has bought a new car, and one of you, a Ferrari California. This particular chap was mentioning to me that he had thought it would be a sedate and peaceful drive, and he was a little surprised at the noise it made, and the fact perhaps he was drawing a little bit too much attention to himself. A little like a Cheryl Cole tattoo. Did you not test drive it? Oh, come on, the car…. And really, I thought that was the point? I bet he’s a hit at the kind of party where you put your keys in a bowl!
I assure you, if you hand the keys in this direction, I’ll have no such problems, my right arm needs a little bit of tan. That goes for any of you who have tired of your wheels. Perhaps not you Izzy, a G-whizz is not quite what I had in mind. I have a friend of longstanding who we will call Bob, his idea of a romantic weekend away with his girlfriend at the time, was to hire a Ford Transit van, in white, of course, pop a mattress in the back and head for Brighton. No Mr and Mrs Smith needed there, then. However his idea of real fun was to be driven around Baghdad, by someone cackling manically at the wheel, live shells rolling around in the foot well, dodging bullets, the driver also turned out to be a customer.
My personal experience with someone with similar honed skills courtesy of our government meant we got lost in the Peak District. A gentle Sunday morning stroll turned into a route march in the most appalling weather conditions without the correct clothing. When I tried to explain to him that we were walking faster than he had calculated and had missed the path we were supposed to take, he held my head underwater for a very long time. OK, OK I made the last bit up, or did I?
Today I have been round to see Michael, he’s on gardening leave, and has decided to head for Naples for a month to learn Italian. I was helping him sort out his wardrobe for the trip. If I didn’t do this, he’d have need of a coterie of porters, a butler, and someone to mop his fevered brow. I did this because I like him, and he needs to keep his children properly covered from the harsh rays of the sun, clearly he needs all the support he can get. But I have keys to his place and if he runs short of shorts I am under instructions to courier him his every need. Knowing Michael as I do, he will return with more clothes than when he left.
Talking of clothes, many have been staring at my wonderful white cotton suit and wondering when I shall be wearing it. Well in answer to this, when you’re in the queue for an ice cream over the Bank holiday weekend and someone asks if you’d like a flake with that, look up and see if you recognise the face… But I jest: the stretch denim suit that has been delivered will see me in good stead for the rest of the summer.
As my trainer OT has moved onto bigger and better things; we do continue to see each other and the project continues, but I have moved my training headquarters to the gym in Dolphin Square. This is in order to prepare myself for the beach volleyball at the Olympics, just in case they need a ball boy, a lucky mascot, anything, really anything, I can mop a fevered brow with the best of them.
We have started to play Christmas music in the shop. Early I know, but it appears to be the only playlist that Jake and I can agree on or aren’t bored of at the moment. We could of course play the entire Eurovision 2012 contest from start to finish on the BBC iplayer, including the Russian grannies on a loop. Aaaargghh, I hear Jake cry no more music with accordions in it, but then he did say Jedward were OK: perhaps it’s the heat.
Finally, it is official; I am too tall to be the president of France. Some good news then?
After another thrilling bout of end of season excitement Jake has returned blinking into the daylight after hiding under the stairs, only to find out that little Shrek has had a hair transplant. At least Wayne has had the good grace to man up to it, like those prostitute tales. I hate it when people resort to superinjunctions.
I can’t wait for Wayne to be sporting dreadlocks by Poznan 2012. He’s certainly looking a lot more cheerful these days.
Do you know how long it took me to get Jake back to work? I’m going to have to coax him back out again by promising not to jinx Wolves again, and with all the preseason transfer speculation, it’s not as though they don’t need any help. That’s it, I’m banning him from Twitter.
Where’s that? I hear you ask. Don’t worry, I had to look it up too. It’s in Poland and is accessible via Ryanair from Liverpool, a match made in heaven, and fine for Stevie G.
After complaints about the erratic delivery of the newsletters, please be aware that henceforth I shall dispense with formal dates and just send them when the mood suits.
I even got a text asking how I determine when the mood suits and what goes on in the darkest recesses of my warped mind in order to stir the creative juices to a point where they start to flow. I’ve paraphrased the message because producing it verbatim would cause spam filters to explode, which kind of gives you a clue to the content.
Some of you have asked if I’ve been taking steroids to create my pumped look. I didn’t know you cared, well except the person who sent me the text, and of course my stalker. And the customer whose inside leg I was measuring. But that’s a story for another newsletter. The answer is no. It is nothing more than a good healthy diet and lots of exercise under the instruction of my trainer Otaniyien.
One of you who asked is Welsh. Look you, you more than most should know how much effort it takes to chase sheep, especially the young and frisky ones at this time of year.
I’ve nearly got the application of the protective screen to my iPad to a point where it no longer looks like deflated bubble wrap, and no, it’s not one large bubble that covers the entire screen, have some faith, please. Sadly for you lot I can now read what I am typing. Up to this point these have just been a fortuitous collection of key strokes falling into place.
Anyway, the sun is out, the sky is blue, there’s not a cloud to spoil the view……Yes, you get the idea, I’m travelling again. Back to Rome this time to work on next summer’s collection. So soon I hear you cry, but darlinks, I vork in fashion where nothing is qvite vhat it seems, and where Zoolander is more documentary than parody.
It’s not as if we’ve enjoyed the giddy heights of this years’ June downpour, a covered up Centre Court, and the bumper strawberry crop infecting everyone with a new and exotic strain of bug. Well rather that than a Teutonic cucumber (yes, I know it was bean sprouts, but when has the image they convey ever been funny?).
Jason at the Wolseley asked me to resend May’s Newletter, because his iPhone crashed, and he missed his mention him in that one. I duly obliged on condition that he never sits me next to……………”Mr super injunction” and “Miss super injunction” again. It’s not as though I can repeat a word they said.
But wait, spare a thought for Anthony Weiner, and his lover and aspiring actress in the adult field, Ginger Lee. I mean, is that how they do it? Ginger Lee? And is someone not pronouncing his name correctly? I thought it was always “i” before “e”, but perhaps we should consult a linguist. You couldn’t make it up could you? Well I could, but could I do any better than a Jodie Foster film about Mel Gibson and a beaver?
Now for the plug. Oh, for goodness sakes sit down at the back. You really are a rowdy lot.
Mark Williams of Mail Shot International has been our courier service both domestic and international for some time. They offer a very efficient and friendly service, and I feel he deserves a mention for the heroics he undertakes. And he never asks what we really put in the parcels.
Finally, Greg is off to the wedding in Florence, so we wish him well. He contemplated flouting the dress code, but I talked him down. At least he will now wear something in the heat.
Stop press: Olympic ticket allocation, badminton, basketball, tae kwan do, handball, basketball, and wait for it……..women’s beach volleyball. Everybody I had asked had applied for these tickets, but these are mine and not for sharing…… unless!
So it looks like you’re going to get it twice this month. Oh goody, I hear you all cry in unison.
I’ve struggled with my conscience, but I finally had to end my run in the window. My adoring public will have to wait. I mean the matinees I could cope with, but the evening performance was playing to an entirely different crowd, plus I was getting a little tired of wearing the make-up. What an ill-mannered rabble of drunks and hecklers my customers can be. Perhaps I should have enlisted my d-list friend to understudy, but then I’d never have got rid of him. He’d only draw attention to himself, and who in their right mind would want to do that!
Jake has aged in the last few days. Some of you may know, but he supports Wolverha…. Wolves. They survived the drop, the outcome left until the final throes of the season. On recent Saturdays Jake would disappear for hours. OK, he was in the shop, but I would find him, head in hands, muttering to himself, much of which I can’t repeat here. All because Wolves had let in a goal in the first minute, let in a goal in the last minute, or worse, both. Then he would blame me for jinxing them or if it got really bad, his parents for bringing him into this miserable world. Oh well, such is the life of a fanatical football supporter. But spare a thought for me, yes, I know it’s all about me, but it is my newsletter. We’re going to have this all over again next season, and he still won’t be allowed to wear club colours to work.
The ash cloud has returned. Well there is a bank holiday this weekend, OK, OK, at the moment isn’t there. All part of Dave’s happiness index, who wouldn’t feel better not going into work every day?
And there is nothing more certain than an ash cloud to turn Michael O’Leary from the adorable little Andrex puppy he is, into a snarling dandy dinmont (it’s a dog before you have to look it up). I mention him because I feel at this moment in time I am one of the few people on the planet not to blame for any slight upon him. I’m sure he’s dreaming up ways to charge for tours of the ash cloud, come to think of it he may even charge you for dreaming if you dare to fall asleep on one of his flights. I say this without ever having flown with Ryanair, but then Ryanair conveniently doesn’t fly to anywhere I want to go at the moment. Phew!
By the way, my theory is that Ryanair isn’t an airline but a psychological experiment to see how much humiliation human beings will endure in order to save a few bob.
The ash cloud has given Sky the opportunity to report on its position every 15 minutes. Perhaps it will encircle the country rendering travel impossible by all but a leaky boat, and once again “chicken licken”, the sky is falling in.
As for you lot, well! Rosie has a stalker! No not me, and not Mark either, but there are sinister things afoot in Pimlico Village. I’d like to thank one customer in particular for the kind text he sent me. Never, ever do it again. Pervert! Those of you who have seen the text will know what I mean, those of you who haven’t, not a chance. No really, not a chance, suffice to say it exists, as evidence. And Michael, you can stop calling, Duran (the underwear model) is in Miami, so there is no chance of him coming round to walk the dog.
Now I hadn’t heard from Adam and mad Anne, but it seems there was a reason for her madness. A large brain tumour, strange how finally the reasons show themselves. My wife has previous for this, she suffered from and was successfully treated for one just after we were married. So we wish Anne all the very best and a very speedy recovery, but quite how she will manage that with Adam’s help I will never know.
Finally, time for a little plug. Otaniyien Ekiomado my personal trainer has launched a website. Since he worked wonders with my tired old bones, I feel that “Intelligent Vanity” is worth a visit. I wish him all the very best with it. In my case one of those words in the title is applicable. I’ll leave you to work it out.
Sent from my iPad=—====—-=== with go-faster stripes!!!!!!