Interview with a vampire

Posted on May 6, 2020 by volpeadrian

Firstly, a big thank you to Neil from Inkadelic Tattooing in Ibiza for the reminder of the sunsets I am missing.

Sat on his terrace looking at the sun going down, on the first real day of freedom that he has known in weeks.

Lockdown has been a good discipline for me. Isolation in particular. No one to bother me, the shop silent and undisturbed, my bed of Transylvanian earth to comfort me.

In the late 11^th Century I was living in Minehead; Mynheafdon as it was then known, and I would often meet our friendly landowner, generally as he toured his estate on horseback. The horse was always a little jittery around me, and yet there was a familiarity about EAlfgar, the Earl of Mercia, as if I had seen him before.

It was a likeness, something around the eyes, and as a vampire you remember faces, eyes; and necks in particular. Past faces often appeared as I dreamt, vivid memories, not haunting, but their puzzled faces looking at me as if searching for a reason. It was in one such dream that she appeared, as I had originally seen her years before.

That first time, she was astride a horse riding through Coventry clad only in her long hair. I was a tailor at the time, and the shop was shuttered that day to allow her to ride through the streets, unseen. However, from behind the shutters I had stolen a glance, mesmerised by the shape of her neck I hatched a plan to visit her after nightfall, she could be one of us, one of the twelve…

But, where would we be without coincidences? EAlfgar was her son, and she Lady Godiva! The tailor who stole a glance, was apparently, Tom, ‘Peeping Tom’!

These days I am out early in the mornings, and yes, I know that as a vampire I should be destroyed by the sun’s light, however like hangovers and due to some strange, genetic twist of fate, I remain unaffected.

Sadly, I am unable to fly at the moment, and it’s best that I don’t morph into a bat at this most difficult time for these delightful creatures. I use the quieter times of the day when there are fewer people, mainly so I’m not overwhelmed by temptation, it is much easier to eat when there is a chance I might not be disturbed. It’s not as though what I crave can be delivered by Deliveroo or Uber Eats…

I meander over past hunting grounds far from home. Hampstead Heath, Alexandra Palace, Highgate Cemetery, and the Parkland Walk which is London’s unsung highline, and in my opinion a much better version than the one in New York.

It’s not just exercise, but also to check that none of my past indiscretions have resurfaced, even along the canal. It is now so quiet and still, that you can see all the way to the bottom, scooters, Boris bikes, toilet seats and dozens of traffic cones… nothing to implicate or incriminate me.

Once lockdown has come to an end, I will return to the silence of Arizona and my home in Roden Crater. This year I will rest, take the opportunity to eat in a healthier fashion and save my energy for next year when Burning Man returns and I can make the journey to the big party in Black Rock City…

By then, it might may be business as usual… as if it never was!

Coffee Table Deliveries… and other stories

Posted on May 14, 2019 by volpeadrian

EAT ME, DRINK ME, READ ME…

New stock at the end.

I have been told that this newsletter is turning into my travels around the world in what appears to be far, far longer than 80 days… Pish, you’ve only just noticed!

However, I will have you know that I do work, despite your painless barbs. Painless? Yes, because of the vast amounts of time I have spent lazing around in the sun, I have the skin of a Rhino.

In my profession you do well to remember that a stitch in time saves nine…

And, as I sit here, I am gently warming the soles of my feet on Hades’s hot coals. Evidently a cushy life is not without its sacrifices; this also involves keeping you all entertained every day of the week. Yes, matinees and evensong! That candle is lit at both ends, and Lil’ Kim is holding the blue touch paper.

Those of you that have visited the crypt of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome, will know where a great many of my skeletons are buried, they delightfully sculpted into works of art, perhaps depicting the events, but I say most, but not all.

Last weekend in Ibiza I was confronted with a problem, a dilemma, a cube of Rubik proportions, and, yes. Not for the first time!

Neil had ‘bought’ a coffee table.

As many of you may recall, Neil was also instrumental in tattooing many pairs of shoes over the years, bespoke designs, sometimes letting his creative juices flow, with a dexterity that mere mortals could only envy, a wild smile across his face, the gold tooth glittering in the moonlight… only the whine of the tattoo machine breaking the silence…

Apologies, my creative juices had started to flow. As I have matured these moments of dysfunction have become more common, and from time to time I have had to resort to chemical or homeopathic remedies to finish the newsletter. Apparently these are now available in most well-known chemists… You can’t walk past a window these days without these diamonds of delight being thrust in your face, and I only went in for party hats!

Back to the problem, or moving from one to another? Neil lives high up in Ibiza old town where the air is thin, beyond The Wall, surrounded by massive stone ramparts, and the closest we could get with a van was about 80 metres away. The table was a huge lump of wood, made from the trunk of a tree in the Whispering Wood, weighing in at nearly 250kgs it had to be transported up the last 40 medieval stone steps.

We stood around in the early morning sun, sipping a Kingslayer, a Red Priestess, enjoying the view of the Seven Kingdoms, as far as the White Harbour and the Bite, discussing our various wounds, aches and pains of battle, we evaluated the options. Should we use drugs, apologies… rugs, rollers, ties, a crane, hydraulic lifters, a pendulum, a YouTube tutorial, the infinite monkey theorem, aliens, dragons?

Without ‘The Mountain’, a Leonardo or a Galileo between us, we decided to apply the principle of Occam’s Razor, meaning; ‘that the simplest solutions are preferable to complex ones.’ So, we put down our cocktail glasses, picked a corner each and onwards and upwards we struggled. After a great deal of grunting, to meing, and to youing, your end up a bit, your end down a bit, we made it.

Thus, proving that logic, and a heuristic solution, not forgetting a little brawn and Mutual Aid are a match for Superficial Intelligence! Those on high would do well to listen…

Please forgive me, for I know what I am about to do… my apologies!

But that’s how on the second to last day of my weekend away, the motley crew that carried the coffee table up the steps of the old town, ended up sitting in a row at 10 in the morning sipping ice cold Bohemian style beer supplied by the hardest tattooist that ever stuck a needle in anyone’s arm. It lasted 20 minutes that beer-break, and for those twenty minutes we felt like free men.

Cotton Polo Shirts – Short Sleeve £150

Our classic Linen Polo Shirt – £150

Contrast Collar Polo Shirt – £135

Newsletter – Cast Off – July 2016

Posted on July 22, 2016 by volpeadrian

Please read to the end there will be some news that some of you may have been waiting for!

I have moved the information up the Newsletter as one or two of you were complaining that you were nodding off before the end!

+STOP PRESS+

The VOLPE Sale will start with previews from Wednesday 27th July 2016.

Right, so on with the important stuff.

So as the dust settles, tumbleweed rolls past the door.

A hosepipe ban is only hours away, we are basking in only the 4^th day this year of over 25C, and according to Jake the year is nearly over.

They are frying eggs on the pavement… Easy-over there!

My mobile occasionally rings, I say occasionally.

When it isn’t a wrong number (stalkers from Italy), or a personal injury claim (of which I have several running at the moment, predominantly for my hurt feelings), it has been Theresa asking me to pop round and fix a cabinet, Jeremy to break up a fight in the school playground, Neptune to make him a new trident, or the FA ask for advice on how to dig a hole and then fill it in again, and again, and again.

Then there is the thud at the front door, do I dare to dream? Hollywood, a screenplay, a biopic, who would play me? I’d have to forget anyone who I ‘may’ have insulted through the magic that is this Newsletter, but as they are not named, they wouldn’t know.

The ‘D’ list definitely not, he’s done way too much Panto, and I don’t dress like Danny La Rue. Oh yes you do, Oh no I don’t. Stop!

Then there’s that other chap who got really hot and bothered by the photos of me in red Lycra. Given his physique, my vision of the romantic scenes would be of a wardrobe falling on someone, with the key still in, more cabinetmaker, than locksmith.

So it’s a case of who’s not working at the moment, and I must say it’s a bit of a struggle, as we have sadly lost a couple of candidates this year, we could have had me playing Prince, being me, but that’s just too weird even for me.

There are the usual suspects; Ryan Gosling, Ethan Hawke, Russell Crow or Jack Sparrow, even an avatar, but then I might get mistaken for a Pokemon. Go damn spot, go I say! Yet, who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him. I can hear Shakespeare a spinnin’, Macbeth versus Pokemon. “Lay on Macduff, and damned be him who first cries ‘Hold enough’!”

Ah! ‘Tempus Fugit’.

The maelstrom of political intrigue is threatening to engulf the holidays of our illustrious leaders and we are surrounded by those whose tousled locks are the stuff of legend.

Our Foreign Secretary who looks like he has been pulled through a hedge fund backwards following Brexit, The Donald whose hair is so swept over that there may be surfers trapped in there, and Uncle Bill whose split ends resulted in the most expensive haircut of all time, so spare thought as we are drawn towards le petit “Francois” who is clearly paying by instalments!

Will he be wearing a bathing cap to the beach this year, and what will be the repercussions for his coiffeur? After being paid €10,000 a month to deal with wee Franky’s helmet hair, how on earth will he banish those stray forehead tan lines and constant smell of rubber?

So whatever we feel about the gravy train, it will be followed by one carrying Hollandaise!

I’ve done a little more travelling. Aha! I hear you all exclaim at once, we were wondering how long it would take you to get there! I didn’t want to seem predictable and just rush in without a little foreplay.

I was back in Ibiza for an unveiling, well, less of an unveiling and more for a casting off. Neil had broken his wrist a month ago and finally the cast was removed. Finally God created man, and for those of you who thought I had yet more tattoos, this photo is of Neil’s hand!

Keep reading to the end!

And God created man

And the man’s genius is starting to head in a new direction.

Mosaic

Limited edition, hand engraved dials for a Milgauss.

We shared a long lunch under the umbrellas of the marina and on the wander back to town I spotted a Ferrari 458 hidden under a bleached cover, sheltering from the sun.

Undercover

On the way to the airport and Rome for a little work, I stopped at Salinas for this.

Salinas

I spent the evening in Rome with Max and his family, at the restaurant Il Moro with the owners Stefania and Simone.

Still one of my favourite places in the world to eat, and eat we did, to a standstill, until I could not eat another thing and just sit and watch the sun go down!

Big Bang

Volpe

Tag Archives: tattoo

Interview with a vampire

Coffee Table Deliveries… and other stories

Newsletter – Cast Off – July 2016