Volpe Sartoriale

http://www.volpesartoriale.com

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!

Superstar

Superstar

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!

 

Copyright © 2016 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

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.

February Newsletter 2015

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.

SCHMEER

SCHMEER

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.

Phoaaarrr!

Phoaaarrr!

These mild mannered trucks contain Bond's Aston Martin and the villian's Jaguar

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!

DC.........

DC………

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

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…….

————————————————————————————-

 

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

Early February Newsletter 2015

Given what is going on in Europe, I have been looking for a new tax haven to store my vast wealth. By vast wealth I refer to the jar half full of coins that was on the mantelpiece. It was fuller, but I had to raid it for 20 pence pieces the other day in order to buy a bottle of Petrus.

I had kept a note of its contents in my Smythson’s ‘Soho Sinner’ notebook, but that has recently gone AWOL. Yes Dave, it appears the Creative Consultant has been doing a marvellous job. It seems I’m not the only one interested in setting up a complicated series of trusts and offshore companies to save a few pence.

I decided to look for a safe haven in order not to pay the Swiss a huge roll to put it under their mattress.

I had contemplated transferring it to the principality of Battenburg, but that would be the icing on the cake.

And who really knows what the Swiss are going to do next? One night we might go to bed and the next day, the entire nation may have disappeared only to re-appear, invisible to the naked eye, on the moon in some sort of despicable act undertaken by some evil genius who doesn’t look unlike a stretch Silvio.

Good – then the Martians can come along and steal it all.

A small l.e.d. lamp went off in an environmentally friendly fashion in my head.

How about keeping my huge stash like, onshore man, perhaps sink it in a Cornish Tin Mine, no, not as an investment. So I consulted a friend, a certain P.Diddy, he lives down that way. It’s not his real name, but then who’d really want to be called that.

Mr Combs, it’s over!

Goodness, I am throwing jokes around like confetti today.

I took my private jet to Newquay. HM’s government allows me this expense for the rapid transfer of stock and deliveries for all my important clients.

As PD and I flew over what appeared to be a small private island on our reckie, I thought to myself that old rogue Redknapp must be doing well. The greatest manger England never had. That’s almost like saying Steve McLaren was the greatest manager England never had.

You mean he was England manager? I never knew, really? Perhaps I just blotted those rainy days and Sundays from my memory, they always got me down.

However, the island turned out to be St Michael’s Mount. Even better, a rock that in times gone by was inhabited by pirates, what safer place could there be?

Here are my four options. It’s a Mad, Mad World.

End of the Rainbow

End of the Rainbow

Land's End

Land’s End

Sennen Cove

Sennen Cove

St Michael's Mount

St Michael’s Mount

 

So we all now have the election on our minds. Election I said!

I see it going like this, thanks once again, to Monty Python.

The Tousled Blond Mayor of the Lake, his arm clad in the purest shimmering samite held aloft a Glo’stick from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that Dave was to carry the Exchequer and THAT is why he is your Prime Minister.

Well, strange blond men lyin’ in ponds distributin’ swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate of the masses, not pond life and some farcical aquatic ceremony.

Related to the election, apparently there are those amongst you who will do anything to get to Ibiza.

Grant Shapps has been joking that although there will be stiff competition, only the hardest, working campaigners (ooohhh get you and your double entendres!) will be able to join Sam and Dave in a villa on holiday in Ibiza. So it will be days at Blue Marlin, chorizo by the pool and goodbye to Torymolinos.

Lucky old Dave even has a club named after him, DC10, a mixture of his initials and what he scores out of a 10 as a human baked bean. A friend of mine would say he’s “Awesome”. Not so!

So soft drinks all round and Adam Boulton will be pouring out the ‘Red Bull’, or just seeing a little red mist.

Whoa! Where do I sign?

If it means knocking on doors I’m up for it. I love a game of ‘Knock Down Ginger’.

As for kissing babes… me the Third Duke of Wimburn kissing women on their doorsteps for the sake of political gain, for an old school chum, with my reputation!

Oh sorry, babies! Eeewwww.

Apparently Nigel F is offering a weekend picking elderberries. Do elderberries become sloeberries, does the gin have anything to do with it, and was ‘his mother a hamster?’

Once again, thank you Monty Python….

So if the Camerons are going to enjoy the hedonistic lifestyle of the la Isla Bonita, Space, Amnesia, Es Paradis and Glitterbox at Boom, where the f*%$ am I going to go?

Anyways, that’s not the election that everyone is talking about.

We all want to know if David Ginola will become FIFA president and oust the bumbling, tumbling, fool Bepp Splater.

Daveeed would like to merge the mens and ladies’ World Cups in order that they take place at the same time.

OOoooooooooooh Davveeeed, me the Third Duke of Wimburn in the shower of the Brazilian Ladies changing room at the full time whistle with my reputation, I wouldn’t know which way to turn.

Daveeeeeed, you’ll be getting my vote and that of a good friend of mine who has now changed her profile photo to one of a young, coiffed and timberless Daveeeed.

By her own admission she has a little bit of crush on him, well him and Jose Mourinho. Well him, Jose, George Clooney and the Hemsworths. Well Daveed, Jose, George, the Hemsworths and… . Stop this is getting a little out of hand. Is there someone you don’t have a crush on? I don’t have all day to write this!

I took the liberty of inserting a photo of what the majority of people feel are the ideal woman, followed by that of the ideal man.

JW PH

Well I don’t know what else you expected!

Given these days of sexual liberty, I will allow you all to decide on which side of the fence you will fall.

However, one amongst you, and a man amongst men, has another type of crush. After purchasing a new pair of shoes, he will place the right shoe next to him on the bed on a velvet pillow. The shoe must not have been worn, the shoe tree must be in place, and it must be freshly polished. He will then stroke and buff the shoe until the smell of fresh polish puts him to sleep.

OK, OK, the last bit I made up, but as for the velvet pillow, well OK, I made that bit up as well, the silk pillow cases he uses are good enough. I just didn’t think it sounded weird enough. Really?

These are photos of shoes for those of you who not satisfied with the other photos above and require something a little stronger. A little bit of posh, a little bit of rough and of course a little something for those of you who grew up on a farm.

Headed for a Velvet Pillow

Headed for a Velvet Pillow

A Little Bit of Rough

A Little Bit of Rough

 

No Sign of a Struggle

No Sign of a Struggle

And finally a panorama……

St Michael's Mount

St Michael’s Mount

Copyright © 2015 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

Bored Games

So I was bored on a flight, and this shows just how quickly I can come up with this drivel.

It’s an old favourite, much like me. However I think now is the time to resurrect it; unlike me, who should be left to fester.

A small reminder of the weird and wonderful world that exists inside my head.

For years I have entertained myself and friends on holiday with a game of “What shoes would they really wear?”

This is a game where we try to imagine the preferred footwear of the scantily dressed people around the pool whilst on holiday. It is inspired by Carl Lewis wearing a pair of red stilettos, and after a couple of drinks it can get very, very silly.

This game is however a far more sinister one, and inspired by recent events.

So here are 10 nightmare scenarios of people and the things they might say, stood at the end of your bed, hopefully not naked, and not saying they are ready for fun!

Not in order of preference.

1: Jeffrey Archer – “Now I remember what the brown envelope was for!”

2: Pete Burns – “Do you think my lips look big in this?”

3: Beyonce – “You should have put a ring on it.”

4: Boris Johnson – “Do you like our new contactless payment system?”

5: Two in one; Jocelyn Wildenstein wearing a Michael Jackson mask or Michael wearing a Jocelyn mask. – “Billy Jean is not my son.”

6: Vladimir Putin – “Have you noticed the remarkable likeness of this object to my natural head?”

But to be honest the mere fact that Vlad the impaler is stood at the end of your bed holding anything would be scary enough.

7: Gordon Ramsay: “Welcome to my new series of bedroom nightmares and tonight we’ll be sprinkling everything with chillies.”

The other game to play, is a sweepstake whilst watching a Gordon Ramsay programme and betting how long it is before he whips his shirt off.

8: Dave Cameron: “This is how we played a game of ‘hide and seek’ at Eton.”

9: Dolly the sheep, Dolly the sheep, Dolly the sheep, Dolly the sheep, Dolly the Sheep…… You get the idea – “behhhh!”

10: Simon Cowell and Louis Walsh: “X marks the spot.”

And one for luck.

11: Dear Silvio – Are you wearing my hairpiece?

Luckily for you, I have omitted those involving Carol Vorderman, Delia Smith, Luis Suarez, the Angry Birds, The TellyTubbies and Pepper Pig!

After 10 horror stories a couple of happy memories that will have more than likely have involved the demon drink.

And I have avoided the obvious, which would be waking on a boat in Ibiza, in the shadow of Es Vedra, surrounded by; well, Bowfinger knows!

1: Jeremy King who would clearly be impeccably dressed as always.

Adam and I would be asleep on separate banquets in The Wolseley. Having fallen asleep following an extremely long evening of excellent food and fine wine. The girls would have left us to our own devices and gone off clubbing.

The staff will have taken pity on us and as we slept off dinner, covered us with linen tablecloths and propped our heads up on empty champagne bottles. We would be woken by the smell of a Wolseley full English breakfast and a restorative glass of champagne.

2: The Green Parrot in Green Park – perched on my big toe. I am dressed in the Emperor’s new clothes, warmed by the rays of the sun and the morning dew on my back. Another victim of a night on the Absinthe, and the Emerald Fairy, I stroll across the park towards The Wolseley and a handmaiden feeds me what looks like a peeled grape and hands me a soft towelling robe to preserve my modesty and Marie’s blushes.

 

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

February 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

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.

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

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.

BHF Padlock

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.

 

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

December 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

OK. So I didn’t get this out before Christmas.

I could give you all sorts of excuses.

1: Duran’s pet Chihuahua, “Elvis” ate my first draught.

2: I was abducted by aliens.

3: Every single computer where the original version of this was stored crashed, deleting all my work.

But, the truth is that I have only just surfaced.

Why, you might ask? Well I hid under the bed for a few days. You can’t be too careful what with the end of the world and all that. I managed to finish the ark I was building out of matchsticks, but then I couldn’t get it out of the bottle I’d built it in.

On the outside of the bottle, it did say “drink me”, and some of you who know me, know I can’t resist a challenge. Suddenly I was the size of a sugar mouse and I didn’t like the look of the Cheshire Cat.

So there it is. I stayed there until the effects of the hallucinogens had worn off. I missed Christmas and all the trimmings. I can only be glad I didn’t think I was a turkey or the Parson’s nose. Oh, the ignominy.

But now I’m starting to worry about the fiscal cliff. We have only 24 hours to save the world. How many times must we cry wolf, before we are all eaten? When close to the edge, I always feel like jumping.

Please hasten in the New Year when all will be serene, and I will feel less like a lemming. Then I started to think what lovely coats they’d all make, and I began to relax, and all was right with the world again.

Michael has headed for a beach with “Old Wood” in hand. On this beach they have a strict dress code. I’d tell you where it was, but I know you’d all be on the first plane there. He has threatened to thwart the dress code; Speedos are banned, but he has been honing his entire physique for a moment like this, and woe be tide anyone who stands in his way. Whoa Michael, don’t scare the horses! It reminds of the joke about making a horse laugh. You can look it up if you want? I’m not telling you here!

Those of you I have seen this year, or spoken too, or emailed, thank you. Also those of you, who have commented positively on ramblings, thank you. Those of you who were less than complimentary, also, thank you. I was glad I could get under your skin.

Thanks to Jason, Jayne and all the crowd at The Wolseley, to Vash, Michael, Darren, Suhul, Sunil, Mark and anyone I might have forgotten (OK Jake), I could mention so many more, but I am starting to well up like an Oscar acceptance speech, and we do only have 24 hours to save the world.

I know President Obama and ‘Dear Silvio’ will be reading this and they both have more important tasks in hand. The former the fiscal cliff, and the latter, well let’s not go there, but he’ll be back.

Normally I would make a list of all the resolutions you have imparted to me, but this year I think I will wait until the end of January when so many will be covered in glorious failure, and I can selfishly recount each one writ large in the newsletter.

Whatever your resolutions will be I wish you luck with them. I only have my best interests at heart. Remember I have a newsletter to fill. So whatever wagon you fall off of, makes sure it is large and fast moving, in this way you are guaranteed a mention.

For those of you want to save the world. Perhaps follow a little advice offered to Bono at a concert. Whilst on stage he proclaimed that every time he clapped his hands a child in Africa died. A helpful fellow in the audience suggested in slightly more vulgar terms, that he should stop clapping. Thank you for that one Darren.

So wherever you are spending the New Year, I hope you will have a wonderful time, and I hope that next year allows me to continue to follow this ideal.

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.”

 

Copyright © 2012 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.