May Newsletter 2016

Mothers!

Mine will be 88 in a few weeks. So I felt it might be a good idea to spend a few days with her because on the actual day I will no doubt be in Ibiza, celebrating it on her behalf!

However, the weekend did create a few interesting moments.

Some of you will have heard me tell of her epic levels of fitness, and the 80 steps she climbs at least once a day to her front door. It is not a pilgrimage worshipped, but a trip to recycle the empties! She’d raise a glass to that.

In my case, the grape didn’t fall far from the vine.

Living in Somerset, getting around can be problematic, the local bus company has just gone bust and taxis are few and far between. So if my brother and I are ‘Casa Mama’ she likes to get out and about.

This last weekend was glorious, long days, cloudless skies and warm sunshine.

On the Monday we went to the Valley of the Rocks in Lynton and my mother decided she was going to walk the South West Coast Path. The path although tarmacked, is only 3 feet wide with a sheer drop of 300 feet to the sea below on one side, and has no railing. Mum set off at a pace that would have Paula Radcliffe breathing hard.

Valley of the Rocks - The South West Coast Path

Valley of the Rocks – The South West Coast Path

What I have failed to mention is that my mother suffers from Macular Degeneration and carries a white stick at all times! It is known as the ‘Nutkin Slayer’ due to the number of squirrels that have perished at its hand. When I ask mum about the state of her eyesight she pulls the Donald Pleasance trick from ‘The Great Escape’, I can’t tell you how many damn pins I have stood on in her kitchen.

I jogged along at her shoulder for well over a mile ensuring she didn’t make a hasty Brexit, then she ignored my offer of directions and we ended up a mile from the car. This lady wasn’t for turning, so whilst she sat and sipped a cup of Earl Grey, I jogged back to fetch it.

Mother, you want to walk WHERE?

Mother, you want to walk WHERE?

We adjourned for lunch at The Black Venus in Challacombe, and before you ask she wasn’t the one of the ‘Three Graces’ that was banished for bad behaviour. It is a lovely pub, with wonderful food, and great service.

http://blackvenusinn.co.uk

I have oft complained that there is nowhere local to my mother for a decent meal, but it seems times have changed. OK, my mother doesn’t drive; thankfully, and Challacombe is too far to go for an evening meal, however it was a wonderful treat for us.

On the list next time for mum and a must, is Reeves in Dunster. Absolutely fantastic is all I can say; the fact the sun was shining and we were sat in a walled garden dating back to the Norman Conquest looking at Dunster Castle only added to the pleasure of it. I shall pack mum into a taxi, or worse still get one of her octogenarian friends to drive her, the Yarn Market opposite has been standing for nearly a millennium, what could happen?

http://www.reevesrestaurantdunster.co.uk
At least you’ll read about it here!

Before you ask, I have been abroad this month; I may have been to Ibiza. 

Yes OK, twist my arm, it’s where I started the month. But now you’ve got me started!

Haircut?

Haircut?

My friends had a suitable haircut after last year, the marina is still the tripping hazard it always was. Oh, come on; not like that.

Queen Scratch

Queen Scratch

Neil and Scratch are on amazing form. The master continues to ply his trade, and I am starting to see shoots of maturity in his behaviour. He has taken up cycling, although from our conversations, it seems he is cycling mainly downhill. We lunched at Puerto de Cielo, a chiringuito perched high on a cliff near to San Antonio, a far flung place, yet sat on the next table was a client of mine from Miami. I am now world famous (I know not for what!), but you are now reading this odd little ditty in 117 countries. Reading may be too strong a word, but the pictures do paint a thousand emoticons! 😉

The mighty man at work. His genius is his art.

Inkadelic

Inkadelic

We Club Tropicana’d it at Pikes for an afternoon before I allowed Neil to do a little work.

Is that the Bus Stop?

Is that the Bus Stop?

The following day I left Ibiza and headed for Mallorca for 24 hours, and our new cycling base. Adam you have duped me once too often, not satisfied with the Velcro running suit, you tempted me with…. I’d rather not say! Well OK, a spa and a Raki massage. The voice plays tricks on the ears on a mobile phone! It turned out to be 24 hours of Ikea, first in the store and then constructing chest of drawers, after chest of drawers and Adam stood over me, stop watch in hand. I left a broken man, but at least with all my parts intact!

However there is a German Schloss devoid of 15ft of BB Italia leather sofa, tables and chairs, how all that fell off the back of lorry I’ll never know!

My feet had barely touched the ground, when I headed for Florence and Milan. Cloth from Andrea for a lucky few and Milan for ties.

So ice cream… Ooops

Fondente!

Fondente!

Photos of Monica Bellucci. 

SPQR - Monica Bellucci

SPQR – Monica Bellucci

Try saying it.

Sapphire rings.

Should have put a ring on it...

Should have put a ring on it…

Wake up, I’ve not finished yet!

I stayed at Fifty Eight Suite in Milan. Guys, superb thank you so very much. Comfort and style in the centre of Milan.

http://www.fiftyeightmilano.it

On the way back

On the way back

So into the finishing straight.

May has also been cultural. An evening of Mozart’s Requiem, by candlelight in St. Martin’s in the Fields and a scary afternoon watching of watching a dozen Punch and Judy shows, tucked away in Covent Garden. Oh no you didn’t, Oh yes I did, and I have the mental scars to prove it!

Mozart - He shoots, he scores

Mozart – He shoots, he scores


Mental Scars

Mental Scars

A little stock, for those who are interested, the beach towels are back and at least you can dry the rain off, if you don’t get to lie in the sun! For those of you who are that way inclined, or prone to lying down…

Carp Beach Towel - SOLD OUT

Carp Beach Towel – SOLD OUT


Crane Beach Towel

Crane Beach Towel

As it was a Sundae I went to The Colony Grill at The Beaumont Hotel, and as if by magic this appeared.

Sundae Lunch

Sundae Lunch

Finally I leave with one of my mother’s gems. We were talking culture, well, mum was talking and I was nodding as if to show a faint understanding of what she was talking about. In discussion she spoke of Keneth Brannagh, and how he has moved on and his mantle is now being carried by the likes of ‘Cummerbitch’…

After those of you who thought last month’s photo was of me, this is not my Mother!

Not Mother!

Not Mother!

Copyright © 2016 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

A dateless Newsletter

Let’s start with a photo of a lovely lady draped in fur!

Scratchie

Scratchie

Thank you Neil for the lovely photo of Scratch and many congratulations on the work with ProHunter.

ProHunter and Inkadelic

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?

Siri

Siri

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.

Wine Tasting

Wine Tasting

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!

Three Graces

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!

Carnival

Carnival

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:

www.blowersbespoke.com

Blowers and Baxter

Blowers and Baxter

ps. I’ve been in Rome, just in case you thought I’d not been anywhere!

It's not me!

It’s not me!

 

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

Pistol and Boo – Safe?

Dear, Dear Johnny and Dear, Dear Larry,

It’s a slightly old story, but it seems that ‘Boat People’ are not the only immigrants to fall foul of Australia’s anti-immigration stance.

Whether you arrive on a boat or private jet it appears no matter who you are, you may not be welcome if your paperwork is not in order. However if you are the rather cute Yorkshire Terriers belonging to Johnny Depp and Amber Heard the fate could be a lot worse.

So Johnny was there filming yet another Privates of the Caribbean extravaganza, this time aptly called Dead Dogs Tell No Tales.

I don’t how he could stop such small creatures climbing aboard a private jet, dogging security, hiding under the seats before arriving undetected in the land of Oz. You can’t blame dear, dear Johnny for that.

They they bypassed passport control and security, and headed off to a grooming salon, in Brisbane? Is that some kind of joke? Surely someone must have noticed these little chaps with their diamante collars skipping off across the tarmac to freedom, a spruce up and a blow dry!

Little did they know that Barnaby Joyce was on their case, he’d catch the slippery little suckers, incarcerate them and euthanize (KILL) them if they didn’t high tail it out of there by Saturday night.

Luckily the story has ended well for Pistol and Boo, by strange fortune they managed to escape from gaol, dash to the airport, and with moments to spare clamber aboard the last flight to LA by climbing up the retracting wheels as the plane left the tarmac.

Phew!

However if you are an extremely tired, migrating bird and are desperate for landfall, your tired wings unable to bear you any further, be warned if you are going to touch down in Oz.

Make sure your biosecurity passport is in order, your feathers freshly preened and please try to avoid the anti-aircraft batteries now being set up along the coastline by the Ministry of Agriculture.

Pistol and Boo

Pistol and Boo

Of course there was plenty right and plenty wrong with this, but it did give me something to write about in the middle of the month!

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

January Newsletter 2015

It is good to see so many faces back from the Bacchanalian festivities at New Year.

Today is supposed to be one of the most depressing days of the year, but the sun is shining, so just how bad can it be?

Well now you’re bored; those resolutions are becoming a pain in the behind, and worse; you are SOBER.

Week three of; “Not a drop will pass my lips”, waking in the morning, wondering as Winston Churchill nearly put it, looking at himself in the mirror; “I was drunk, Miss, but this morning I am sober, and you are still ugly!”

And even worse;  you’ve been back at work a couple of weeks and just to show how bored everyone really was; the Swiss, yes the Swiss of all people; decided to do something dramatic to shake everyone up a little.

Had the St Bernard been doing the rounds, doling out the Schnapps?

No, they didn’t delay a train, make a cuckoo clock that sang out of tune or wittily divert a ski slope so a Russian Oligarch and his family ended up in the middle of Andorra.

No, what they did was to remove the cap that pegged the Swiss Franc to the Euro! Whoops, panic set in across the global markets, and a Rolex watch quadrupled in price. OK, not really.

It had the immediate effect of making beans on toast in a mountain side restaurant in Gstaad £100. My goodness I should Coco, that’ll be an extra £50.

Well who’d have thought it from the Swiss?

I have been in Italy visiting Bologna, Florence and Pitti Uomo.

Pitti Uomo I have discussed before; but it is a trade show devoted to menswear, dare I say men’s fashion? Well I daren’t say it again!

This is the first group of ‘Fashionistas’ I saw, sporting the latest craze for ‘Boy Band Chic’ where Louis Walsh meets Conchita Wurst.

Boy Band Chic

Boy Band Chic

For those amongst you, who sport a beard, please accept my apologies in advance for any offence I may will cause.

I wore a suit on the two days I attended, when I would have felt more at home dressed as Santa Lycra.

One hall denied me access because I wasn’t looking “Lumbersexual” enough.

WHAT?????????

I looked around, it wasn’t an osteopath’s convention, it wasn’t that dark, no one was bent double wearing some sort of weird harness, holding their back and muttering under their breath “I’m never doing that again”.

Apparently it means a particular look, a hipster beard, check shirt, hat and short trousers and heavy boots. Now at this point I am losing the will to dress again, but I can see men with earrings, sunglasses indoors, bracelets, braces and all the other requirements.

Monty Python clearly got it right with the ‘Lumberjack Song’. Michael Palin sings:

I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women’s clothing,
And hang around in bars.

I chop down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspenders and a bra.
I wish I’d been a girlie
Just like my dear papa.

I am now prepared for this eventuality, I have bought a false beard to carry in my pocket for a fashion emergency, and if you happen to notice that my trouser pocket is bulging, and a few stray hairs can be seen at the pocket opening despite my use of Captain Fawcett’s Moustache wax, fear not; I believe that that if it don’t fit, don’t force it.

Hahahaha. Sorry, couldn’t resist. I knew I’d get that joke in eventually. It’s only been 4 years of toil.

Anyway I have added my twist on the ‘Hipster/Lumbersexual’ look, false beard included and added a photo, and you’ll be happy to see it doesn’t involve Lycra.

Anyway here’s one for The Sartorialist!

Hipster

Hipster

I know if you didn’t know it was me you’d never know. I took this indoors as you know I would never want to be seen in the street incognito!

Anyway, enough fashion nonsense, dahlinks. You don’t read my newsletter for fashion news or advice. I just post that when it comes in,  and given current evidence I haven’t got a clue about anything related to clothing of any shape or form.

I was ill during my trip to Italy, but I did have a dinner with Emanuele to celebrate his birthday, but after that I was consigned to bed for days, not because of food or alcohol, but with a very nasty cold.

However in celebration of Emanuele, here is our annual photo.

Emanuele

Emanuele et moi

I am Xerxes, and earlier I was lain on a chaise longue, minions scurrying here and there peeling me grapes, applying fresh gilt to my skin in order that I might blind anyone who wants an audience with me and my magnificence, and no that is not a euphemism.

Sat humbly at the end of my super sofa, is DJ Dave Cam.

He’d searched out an audience with the greatest dictator the world has ever known, who has conquered more worlds than he has heard of, seen more baked beans than there are in a tin.

He’s put his sunglasses back on, his inability to frown or give any expression of any sorts means we have no idea what he feels about anything, and the glare from my golden glory is so strong that he is rendered inert,

Poof! a puff of smoke, and at his shoulder is ‘Little ol’ Nick’, whispering in Dave’s ear, “I can deliver you the Nation and Europe too. U keep the ones I don’t want, and we’ll get along famously.”

For heaven sake that’s the last time I touch J Collis Browne’s Linctus.

I”ve not been well, but I’ll never touch another drop of that, it’s back to the Absinthe minded faerie for me.

I was starting to hallucinate that we’d be stuck with an Italian style, rotating, coalition government, everyone fighting like rats in a sack, an unholy alliance between Nick Farage and the Scottish Nationals, with the Greens shining a light on it, via the open fridge door. You’d think they’d have they’d have looked at the efficiency rating stepped inside closed the door and been left in the cold, only later to be asked to appear on Gogglebox alongside DJ Dave for ‘Street Cred’.

Right, that really is enough linctus. No it’s not, yes it is, no it’s not. You two stop arguing with yourself, and pass the bottle here, it doesn’t really contain opiates does it?

Oh yes it does, oh, no it doesn’t, oh blimey, oh yes it does.

Mustn’t share this with the other personalities, they’ll all want a sip, and it is January and of course, “Not a drop will pass my lips”.

But no one said a thing about Cough Syrup!

I had to have photographic evidence that this was real and not a hallucination, but then I suppose only in Italy?

Polizia? Only in Italy!

Polizia?
Only in Italy!

And to finish, a liitle note to Neil and Scratch.

 “Scratchie, get well soon.”

Please read the last newsletter in tribute to Marie Eichner.

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

A very late October Newsletter…..

Just back from Timbuktu……

I will keep returning to this, but it is clear that I can no longer eat anywhere without bumping into someone I know; who just by chance happens to know me. Now if I could only work out how to be famous and rich!

In the last month, Wolf, Chris, Michael, Mark, David, Ahmed, Wolf (again), Damian and The Bear from the Bear hunting joke have all appeared at an establishment where I have been, and I hasten to add, not always the same establishment.

In the end I had to remove myself from Pimlico, and London; and I headed for a cave, much like Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. He was searching out a place of peace and solitude, without scent, without perfume. I, on the other hand was just looking for a place to eat alone.

Climbing up to my place of solitude I passed Neil from Ibiza, scraping lichen from the side of the cliff, he turned and smiled at me his gold tooth glinting in the morning sunshine, his eyes wide and manic, chewing on a mushroom. I must have seemed no more than a little green goblin, and he went back to his task.

Once in my cave, I settled down to eat a sandwich that I had prepared earlier. No sooner had I taken my first bite than a bear loomed large in the opening to the cave, complaining of a sore head and the fact that despite his best efforts he had not managed to deter the hunters. He had a least brought a bottle Ursus Vodka and a couple of glasses, so we shared my sandwich and his vodka.

We both became comfortable with the fact that solitude is rare, but that we would never be lonely.

STOP PRESS: Get well soon Darren that was for you.

This is late, very, very late, but Once again I am in the middle of a series of epic celebrations, they started 3, 5, 9, 14 days ago and continue apace.

For those of you who are still blissfully unaware, but shouldn’t be; the 1st November is/was my birthday, but thank you to all those of you who helped me celebrate, and those who wished me many happy returns.

I crossed the threshold into November, from Halloween to All Saints.

Emi had asked me if I dressed up for Halloween, I explained that it hadn’t been make-up that I was wearing, but actually my face. She then did that shivery thing that she does and the spent the few minutes tapping wood with her knuckles.

Mug Shot

Mug Shot

This was a mug produced by scanning my face and then printing it on Wolf’s 3D printer. The least he could have done, was make it out of chocolate!

I didn’t think I looked that bad for a second night of finishing at after 3am.

Still what do I know?

I’ve posted loads of new stock, and finally it has gone from Mid-Summer Night’s Dream to a bleak mid-winter all in a knight’s tale.

It was a silent night and although the frost was cruel, bahhh humbug, buy something warm for Christmas.

OK, OK, I’ll stop.

Birthday Brunch

Birthday Brunch

The celebrations included all sorts of revelry. Dinner at Plum and Spilt Milk, Sunday brunch at the Corinthia Hotel, a Birthday Carrot Cake baked personally for me. Big Up Dr T.

Birthday Cake

Birthday Cake

An entertaining evening at The Emirates watching, (and I am not a supporter of any football team), Arsenal throw away a 3-0 lead against Anderlecht. It wasn’t until Arsene asked me and Neil (Trainer) to warm up on the touchline that we realised things had got that bad.

Emirates Selfie - Neil

Emirates Selfie – Neil

Finally at the weekend I went up to Newcastle to visit the homeland of my mother’s side of the family, and give Mike and the Magpies a little advice. Not sure how deeply involved I will now be in the Premier League, where will I find the time? I was suitably dressed in a black and white striped, cropped top and shorts for the 3C temperatures.

Durham, because it’s pretty.

Durham

Durham

However on Sunday I did get to see the Silver Swan at Bowes Museum in Barnard Castle. It made a pleasant change from seeing the twinkle toed stars doing their dying swan.

Bowes Museum

Bowes Museum

In fact so busy, I really only caught up with Vash last night!!!!

At this point I will start to show my age, but I think we should finally lay to rest a Saturday night television programme amidst rumours that all is not what it seems.

So I think it’s about time that X-Factor met The Golden Shot, and something less William Tell and more macabre. I suppose it could end up more like Saw; Simon and Louie with apples atop their heads, and Bernie, “The Bolt” please.

In a booth close by, will be middle England represented by Andy Murray’s mum and the future of our children, their television and their music is in her hands.

With previously unseen grace she instructs Bernie, left a bit, up a bit, right a bit, right a bit more, no too far, that’s Attila The Hun, down a bit, down a bit more. FIRE!

I will leave you to work out your conclusion, however in my world and it wouldn’t be good for either Simon or Louie.

Perhaps it’s just a Generation thing, but as long as I end up with a cuddly toy, I’ll be OK.

More new stock will follow.

 

 

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Newletter – September 2014

September was a great month, I won the lottery.

Yes, it’s true and I shall donate my winnings to charity all £2.60.

And on that theme I will take you back to my January Newsletter and doing, or not doing month, after month for charity. I will admit I got October’s month wrong. By all accounts we have to GoSober…..

£$%& that….What with January’s month of abstinence and now October, never will another drop pass my lips. Ooops, who opened that bottle of champagne, how kind Vash, a sip of that will calm my nerves.

I was on the tube and looked up and saw this photo, all I could think was that this poor guy probably needed a very large drink once he had finished this photo shoot.

GoSober

GoSober

And if I want to look like a super-hero, it is normally the alcohol that is involved in me putting my underpants on outside my trousers, or slipping into Emi’s red Lycra. This look is so over: been there, done that. The photos are on the blog, you just have to look for them.

Yes, those unbelievers amongst you, I do use public transport; life is not all private jets, boats in the med, expensive champagne, beautiful sunsets and happy endings. Well not always, but I’m working on it.

This isn’t a sunset, but only in Ibiza can you see a rainbow, without clouds, without rain and without a pot of gold at the end, because it had no end.

Rainbow without rain

Rainbow without rain

Anyway back to me.

Last weekend saw me at the Tattoo convention at Tobacco Dock followed by Novikov for a DJ session courtesy of Dan Williams and then on to The Cuckoo Club where the glo’sticks are light sabres. They look like props from “The Singing, Ringing Tree”, look it up on Youtube, it’s terrifying.

The Cuckoo Club was with David Morales who was gigging (note: down with the kids word), he’d been with us at dinner. Us being Neil (Ibiza), Wes, Tai, Tony, Lisa, Blu and Dan, and of course David.

A big thank you to Vash, he said you made him feel like a Superstar DJ.

Sorry Vash, but the similarity is freaky……

He has that look that you get when someone orders a glass, and you’re thinking, look mate you’re on a date, buy a bottle to share with her/him/other you tight git!

Separated at Birth?

Separated at Birth?

What I don’t understand about the clubs like Novikov and Cuckoo, is that no one dances. It’s all meaningless looks, sorry, I mean meaningful looks and vertical drinking. Well the drinking has to be vertical; if they sit down they can’t see over the giant bottle of vodka. I mean there was a point on Friday where I wasn’t scared of the cuckoo; it was the Grey Goose in a bath that frightened the life out of me.

Then it flapped it’s wings and in a moment it was gone.

Glo'sticks for Cuckoos

Glo’sticks for Cuckoos

Use the fork Luke

Use the fork Luke

These were confiscated at the airport on the way back to Ibiza, I wonder whose children are playing with them now? The light sabres, not the motley crew…

Wandering back across St James Park at 4am, the London Eye, never fails to impress.

London Eye 4am

London Eye 4am

The month had started strangely. I went to see The Dark Knight in Brompton Cemetery, which was slightly eerie, but great fun.

The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight

Brompton Cemetery

Brompton Cemetery

I’d like this skin cream, please…

Before

Before

and

After

After

The middle of the month saw me celebrate a friend’s birthday lunch at his beautiful country estate in Clapham. I don’t often travel out that far, but this time I didn’t get horribly lost, I just turned up in Balham at a house he hadn’t lived in for years. I just assumed he still lived there, but it was boarded up, the garden was in desperate need of not just a manicure, but a pedicure as well. I suppose that’s the countryside for you. Well I do go to Ibiza more often than I go to Balham. Goodness I’m so ‘metrowhatever’.

I’ve put this in because Neil would like it.

Scartch -Still chasing the Stones after all these years

Scratch -Still chasing the Stones after all these years

In the end, the month ended with some applause. No not for my latest collection of winter clothes, which is starting to arrive, but a huge clap of thunder. It proved that not every day in Ibiza ends with a sunset, but as I ended the summer there last weekend it was a fitting end to the season and as enjoyable as any sunset.

Summer Lightening

Summer Lightning

And just to end, I will be posting photos of some new stock.

 

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

March 2013 – Volpe Newsletter update

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.

Icarus - Eugene

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!

IMG_0250

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!

Scratch

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.

Punta Gallera
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?

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

January 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

Well, for January I was going to give up writing newsletters, but I failed half way through, and now it’s an obsession. Perhaps that’s going a bit far, but I’ve started, so I will finish. My monthly stalking of my unsuspecting subscribers will continue

So, New Year’s Resolutions: Did I give up alcohol? No, is the simple answer. I tried, Oh how I tried, but I failed miserably, several times. Vash, you are to blame and you too Izzy. In these situations my glass was never half empty; you could say my cup runneth over. But of course it didn’t because I was never one to waste a drop. And then there was Terry, Michael and Tony who all valiantly assisted in my abstinence: or should that be downfall? Thank you to Spiked Milligan, I’m not sure how you make one, but it did the trick. I think the basement Spanish Bar in…. Do you know, I can’t remember!

Why did I take to drink? Well my personal email account was hacked. No, no not this one; have no fear you won’t be inundated with requests for money because I have suddenly been marooned in Asia. Thanks for that one Wolf, but we won’t raise much money for the round-the-world trip that way.

I know who, I know when and I know why, and it saddens me (although perversely I am also flattered by the attention I have received). Those of you who know me well, will know why, the rest; I will leave you to let your imagination run wild. You couldn’t make it up, except they did, trust me.

I have changed my password, my identity and according to what was done, my past, and they believed it? Look, if they have the ability to get in, they can make it say anything they want.

The next thing I will have Taylor Swift writing a song about me, or worse a medieval ditty by Gordon.

Those of you who have braved the cold and spent a large portion of January in the gym, I salute you; you are almost as dedicated as I am, but that requires a special type of obsession.

Although I do admit I have been a wimp with regarding to getting out on the bike. Sorry David, but it has been grim out there. So I consigned myself to the gym, firming the bits that needed toning, toning the bits that needed firming, and generally attempting to make myself more gorgeous than before. Tough I admit, but I shall not give in. I shall not wither with age; in fact I have now taken to sleeping in a bath full of cells cultivated from a small patch from behind my left ear.

The right ear was not deemed up to scratch. I haven’t told it yet, just in case it sulks because it thinks I have a favourite. (Layer Cake joke).

Neil has been in Beirut, doing his bit for Middle East relations. It’s strange how many of my friends have headed out east to try. He didn’t achieve what he had hoped, but I know he will soon be off to the Far East with superstar DJ David Morales. Poor Scratch, Neil’s faithful puppy will be pining again, but she will be living it up on her new blanket of recycled fur and cashmere. At least Neil can get his coat back. I shall make an effort to head to Ibiza for a tantric yoga retreat. Do I want to learn the art of being tantric and all it has to offer?

However first I shall hoist up my Monoski and head for the Alps, where I can put on my fagbag and ski from dawn till dusk.  Because of the cold, I shall be wearing my fur-lined boots. (See the blog site). Now I admit they are a little camp, but that is me all over. Oh please, not clad in fur and leather, I haven’t done that for years, well not in public anyway.

Those of you who have listened to my ranting’s and ravings, thank you. I hope you can stop laughing just long enough to spare my feelings. I am a sensitive soul. Yes, really.

Anyway, I shall move on, try to be an adult and wish those of you it applies to, a very happy Year of the Snake (oh, will you stop sniggering at the back). And “Danish”, get better soon.

So as we have mentioned another New Year, I suppose I’d better make another resolution: suggestions anyone?  And keep them clean… Please?

 

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

August 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Firstly, Jake is back from holiday – oh joy. And just as I was able to catch up on some work.

Congratulations to all our medal winners, a magnificent haul. It seems a shame that they won’t all be honoured in the time honoured way, a large contract with the BBC. They should be rewarded for their efforts, but somehow like exam results it is fashionable to move the goalposts just as the ball crosses the line. Perhaps to do a U turn, just to show we care. Of course by “we” I mean Dave and Nick, who I’m sure I will be snuggled up under the duvet of coalition as soon as it gets cold and the electricity prices go up.

Most of you seemed to scarper as soon as the Olympics started and were not to be seen again until we dropped the baton. But it did mean that you could get a table in any restaurant in London, and cross Piccadilly without looking.

Jake is now offering me his iphone 4S 64GB, so he can upgrade to the new iphone 5 when it comes out. At what he says will be at a preferential rate, he is even going to throw in a very attractive gold Wolves case! Aaaaaaarggghhhhh. Many of you missed the start of the football season. Oh, poor Jake; the first game a loss and now the board are selling off the crown jewels, left right and centre. Their season is over.

It is a similar dilemma for me, when asked, why there are never any plain blue or white shirts in the sale. It’s a simple answer, next season I will have to go out and buy the same thing again for more money. Have football clubs not grasped this simple concept? The key is in the word simple, or Joey Barton!

Talking of the crown jewels, I would have expected nothing less from Harry.

Well it’s not the first time, but once again I am writing this sat on an aeroplane. I have avoided jokes about the mile high club for the sake of the prurient amongst you. Is it really up, up and away?

Back to Florence again, life is full of hardship, but as Sam has been very quiet on the travel front, I thought I should take up his mantle. This weekend I should be meeting up with Sunil in a Castello near Viterbo. He is taking a holiday, wonders will never cease.

Things are going well there. But those of you who know, know, and those of you who don’t, I’m sorry for the moment my lips are sealed. Isn’t that so unlike me, but then I’m nothing but capricious.

And please, I am not helping “Dear Silvio” with his return. This is well underway, and they have found a stash of lire in a warehouse in Palermo which should boost the economy. ON everyone someone has written, please pass this on for luck……..

Obviously this was last weekend, but I was writing this beforehand, trying to show that there is input throughout the month.

Also I could recount every tube and bus journey, and the ins and outs of my Oyster Card, but I’d soon have you all asleep, and we’ve only just begun.

A few updates are in order. Jason is back from hols, and knowing his reputation, woe be tide any young ladies that might have been in his vicinity upon his Athenian travails, you know what happens. Shirley is not far from releasing her first born upon the world. By the time this is published she will have stopped working, and Marie tells me that the time is nigh. She could always spend her days reliving her pregnancy via my newsletters on the website, hoping the odd snigger may induce labour and get it all over with.

Some of you may remember Eugenia who used to come into the shop from time to time. Yes, she’s the one who we taught to see a second meaning in everything, a degree in double entendre. By we, I mean me, because poor Jake was too young and innocent. I did say he was! Eugenia is getting married later this year, to Ricardo from Ecuador. Eugenia is multi lingual. Good, avoided the obvious joke, but you know where I was going. She even speaks Swahili, which surprised the heck out of a friend of mine. I’m pretty sure she told him that his spear wasn’t as big as he thought. I think Ricardo knows what he is letting himself in for, and I did try to warn him, but perhaps he is blinded by her looks. She is very pretty. Sorry Gen, but you have grown into your ears. Oh, how I remember the days when we used to be able to pick you up by them!

Michael is in Mikonos, and has been on a diet for what seems like forever, and all he talks about is food, I think this has severely affected his mental state, and it’s made his legs turn yellow. Oh no, that’s the fake tan, and his feet are still cadaverous. B*$£h I can hear him say. I just wish I could be there to see him exit the water, a la Daniel Craig. I just hope he remembers to tie the cord on his trunks, up. But it would be so like him not to. However Michael is looking very svelte, he just tries to thwart me by buying macaroons from Pierre Herme (eat your heart out Laduree) this is the real deal.

Neil doesn’t appear to have noticed that I’m not in Ibiza, but I think his head has been turned by an Italian beauty supplied by Pink, who is down there helping Neil out.

Sorry another update, Neil has noticed that I’m not in Ibiza. By all accounts August has left him a nervous wreck. All of those acres of unadorned flesh have left his needles blunt, and only faithful Scratch for company.

And although he hasn’t been mentioned for a while my ‘D’ list celebrity “friend”, has been spotted promoting clubs on the beaches in Ibiza. This generally involves you walking around shirtless, tanned and surrounded by a bevvy of girls dressed the same way. However in his case it means dressed as a Pacha Cherry. A strange way of getting your five-a-day.

And finally Richard has been gone a year, but not forgotten. His chair remains, and perhaps I shall have a brass plaque made to honour him in his absence. Only recently have the emails been returned, perhaps he keeps tabs on my grammar via the website. He will always be able to return to somewhere, where he is known.

Sent from my ipad

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

June 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

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…..

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.