Marie Eichner

I’d been mulling over how I was going to write this for a while, but it seems that for the second time in a short period I am the barer of sad tidings.

After losing Kathleen in November; unfortunately Marie my breakfast partner of many years passed away a couple weeks ago. She hadn’t been well for much of the last year, but we tried to breakfast together as regularly as possible.

It all started about 10 years ago, when Marie was in her mid-seventies.

One morning I was sat at breakfast in The Wolseley reading “Corriere della Sera”, trying to improve my Italian, when Marie approached me. She said how nice it was to see an elegantly dressed young man sat, relaxing, reading a newspaper and enjoying his breakfast without fiddling with his phone.

I was flattered and this approach completely disarmed me. The fact that I had been ‘fiddling with my phone’, and had put it down only a few moments before had escaped her. I asked her if she’d like to join me, she accepted and our friendship began.

Initially it would be coincidence that we would both be there at the same time, but in more recent times we’d phone each other to make sure that we would be about and I suppose we would meet up a  couple of times a week.

Often she’d wonder what people thought of the two of us, nattering away at breakfast, a modern day “Harold and Maude” perhaps.

Even after her bypass operation we’d joke about her pills; how she’d keep tabs on what she had taken, and what she hadn’t.

I know that she was treasured by everyone at The Wolseley and that feeling was mutual. She made an effort to get to know everyone and with her husband Kurt, they were regulars at several of Chris and Jeremy’s restaurants, and she made friends in all of them.

The last time I spoke to Marie was just before her birthday which fell on Christmas Eve, she wasn’t feeling great, but was looking forward to spending Christmas surrounded by Kurt, her daughter Sally, her husband Harry and the grandchildren.

I was, moved to write this after breakfast at The Wolseley this morning. I like eating there, especially breakfast, and whether it is alone or with a friend, when I had Marie for company I always felt privileged.

Like Kathleen, I will miss Marie dearly.

Unfortunately Marie never accepted my request to have a photograph us taken together.

Marie was wonderful to be around and she loved being surrounded by people, making friends everywhere she went. We would joke that I’d end up pushing her round in a bath chair, Marie waving regally as I pushed her down Piccadilly from The Wolseley to Fortnum and Mason, covered with a cashmere blanket. Sadly, in the end I never had that pleasure.

 

 

Copyright © 201Adrian 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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

New Boots and Panties

In fact neither of those, I just wanted to use that title.

So a few little bits of prose, before the photos.

It is National Poetry Day.

I will also regularly post photographs of what I am wearing, or not, to bore you. In today’s photo I am wearing a suit, however what I am not wearing, is socks!

You get the gist, this isn’t Countdown.

Could be anyone!

Could be anyone!

So I was a guinea pig. No not in a previous life, however that would make a change from being an Egyptian Princess. It seems that everyone who has seen a ‘Shamen’ or tried Regressive Therapy will have been royalty of one type or another. I would settle for having been human.

Anyway, back to the guinea pig thing. I received an email from Jeremy of Corbin and King fame, offering dinner at The Colony Grill, how could I refuse? I’d get to sample dinner before the restaurant was actually open. Maybe they’d let me loose in the kitchen and I could wow them with my culinary skills.

So I emailed Jayne and begged. I explained that if I could come for dinner as a guinea pig, the gaping void left in my life by being left out of the trials for Viagra would be filled, once again I could hold my head up in public again.

Then I panicked and thought, what if I’d would have been given the placebo? Oh, the shamen of it.

No such problems at The Colony Grill. The Beaumont Hotel is beautiful, the bar; dare I say, sexy? The restaurant and food were everything you would expect from Chris and Jeremy. On hand to enhance the experience were Robert, Jason, Daniele and the fantastic Shirley.

I can highly recommend the experience.

I was chatting to a friend yesterday whose mother is in a Santuary for the Ederly (Old People’s home) in Rome. She is a little older than my mum, but a similar breed. She’s not happy being there, and her main gripes are as my mother’s would be; the quality of the red wine isn’t up to scratch and the Chippendales haven’t been booked to appear nightly.

I’m trying to think of something along the lines of “youth is wasted the young”, and all I could come with was “the mind is willing, but the flesh is weak”. So back to those trials again!

Anyway I have digressed; digressed, not regressed I am still here.

Some new stock, available in limited quantities, as always.

Email me if you have any questons.

BUT PLEASE, I can’t answer questions like:

Why Chelsea sold Daniel Sturridge to Liverpool and why Man. United sold Danny Welbeck to Arsenal or Wolves are doing so well? Sorry Jake, I’m sworn to secrecy and will take this knowledge to the grave.

Well OK, the real answer is; I don’t know!

Blue Gilet

Blue Gilet

Brown Gilet

Brown Gilet

Camouflage Gilet

Camouflage Gilet

Grey Gilet

Grey Gilet

Light Grey Gilet

Light Grey Gilet

Nylon ID Jacket

Nylon ID Jacket

 

 

Copyright © 2014 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

April 2013 – Newsletter

So today was one of those rare ornithological moments. In the words of Monty Python, beautiful plumage, but it’s just resting. I could ask Jake to recite the rest, but he’s still in shock. Traitor, I hear you all shout in unison. Why because he won 60 squid betting against his own team, the mighty Wolves, however we’ll come back to that.

Ever with my binoculars at the ready, spotted in full flight this morning, in its natural surroundings, the lesser spotted Jason. So often now it seems to prefer a more secluded office environment, but Marie and I were treated to a brief view of his immaculate feathers in The Wolseley.  There was a brief courtship between him and the even rarer, lesser spotted Jayne, but if you know the history, Jason’s mere presence close to the nest may result in more than we bargained for. If you don’t know the history, you’re just going to have to look it up.

Michael is moving back home. After several months living away from his toaster, he is returning. Fresh Prince of Bel Air, with a new roof terrace, once again his neighbours can be treated to the kind of antics that would make Caligula blush. This time rather than from behind his blinds we all may be treated to ‘Babes in the Wood’ from behind frosted glass. Feed me another grape please.

Please note, Michael has been dieting and working out for his next performance. He has taken to walking round the shop in the tiniest of shorts flexing his muscles and shouting “Beefcake” a la Cartman. I’m really starting to worry what he may be putting in the protein shakes.

Really I don’t want a “Roid Rage” incident in the shop, someone suggested rohypnol. It’s bad enough with me when I’m highly strung. Yes I know, not highly enough I hear some or all of you say.

Except the truth is always blurred, and Michael is a delightful fellow.

My weekend was taken up once again with preparing the VAT. Oh yawn, but I did go and see Iron Man 3 in 3D. I really enjoyed it, however the 3D was rubbish, and Sir Ben stole the show as “The Mandarin”. Gwynnie looked great, but then there’s a little history there!

Inside us all, there is a thespian trying to get out. I’m sure Jake will have to go back to treading the boards. It looks like he will need something to distract him from the ignominy of League One football. I know that many of you like to strike up a conversation with him about football.

A suggestion; for the moment – don’t. You see he’s hurtin’ bad, on so many levels. He mourns the passing of the ‘Great McCarthy’, the money wasted on a new stand, where next season they’ll be shooting “One Man and His Dog”. He’s been hangdog enough for the last week, and to strike up a conversation may be a step too far.

But, let’s not forget spring is here. David has broken out the shorts. Now pale, even white legs I can understand, but David’s are still a worrying shade of blue and it’s not woad. He’s a Chelsea supporter and even that wouldn’t account for it, but like all football supporters it’s OK one minute and not the next.

Eventually the warm weather will get here and we can all warm our tired, old bones. I can turn that particular shade of orange that I always go. I will face the sun at noon, and chant in unison via Skype with Neil, and even Eugene, if he’s got time to stop partying.

Like all prayers, we’ll be asking for something, without actually asking for it. Let the summer be long, sunny and hot, like the shorts you all should be wearing.

Let’s hope that they get close to your knees, no “Daisy Duke’s” for the guys, and don’t forget to wash your feet and have a pedicure. Wear driving shoes in town and save the flip-flops for the beach or the park. Perhaps paint each of the toenails a different colour it’s a look I espouse, and it keeps people at more than an arms-length in the gym. Well when you’re in the kind of shape I’m in, all attention is unwanted and unrequired. Believe that you’ll believe anything, just give me a chance to rip my shirt off and run Matthew McConaughey style for a bus. Tony, don’t record that for YouTube, please!

Anyway, I’m a vain old sod, and I don’t care. They’ll come a time when I may have to resort to a Zimmer Frame, meanwhile I have 95 year old aunt who lives in a caravan in a field and hitch-hikes everywhere. No, it has nothing to do with longevity it’s about the madness in the genes.

At last the truth is beginning to surface.

Let’s round this off with a visit from Sunil. You know he’s the one who wakes me at all hours with a text to ask me what I’m doing. Well normally at that time of day I’m sleeping, like everybody else in my time zone. He picked up a cashmere cap to match his cape, I joked about a bobble for it in Chinchilla, and he shot me a look, as if to say “are you crazy”? When what he really meant was; why didn’t I think of that? He was happy with his blue cashmere over shirt. Sunil, you live in the Middle East, why?

Exactly, there is a little madness in us all. Sometimes it is more evident than others, but as long as we nurture it, never lose it, don’t let it run around unchecked, there won’t be too much chance that we’ll get arrested, or worse…….

Lastly, two quotes:

1: You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it. – Robin Williams (How did he get in here, separated at birth?)

Jake's handy work!

Jake’s handy work!

2: There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. – Friedrich Nietzsche

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

March 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

March Newsletter 2013

Let’s get the weather out of the way first. It has been very, very cold and very, very grey and I know we are all fed up with it. Those of you who have managed to get away will mean once again I am deluged with “Out of Office” replies.

However have you thought that the minute the sun bursts forth, the too tight t-shirt, Birkenstocks, shorts and hairy leg brigade will be out in force? Not in such a hurry for the first shafts of sunlight now methinks.

OK, so I’m getting this one out a little early, but I’m off to Ibiza, and given the state I might be in, it might make even less sense than normal. Is that an incredible Burt Wonderstone mushroom I see before me? Quick call the police. On second thoughts no, the first two albums were OK, but then Stu started chucking drumsticks. Good shot! I will never play their music in the shop again. Well apart from Peanuts, but I have my reasons.

For those of you who read and remember my newsletters, my ‘D’ list celebrity friend is now a street artist on the island. There is a little patch of concrete by the marina where he plies his trade. He will be painted aubergine it’s this summer’s hot colour! He just lies there prone like a strange shaped vegetable, either that or he fell asleep and people started dropping coins onto his pile of clothes. He was trying to fashion one of those ‘fakir’ poses whereby he looked suspended in mid-air, but then the stick broke! Gone are the days of Panto, glitter and glamour.

Remember, I have no ‘A’ or ‘B’ list celebrity friends or customers, but we did have someone wear one our suits in “Skyfall”. It was only confirmed recently so I didn’t want to tempt fate.

To some it may seem I am a little too loose tongued in my newsletters, but I choose my topics carefully. I have a huge ego, so it’s all about me as you know too well, and now I have started a book about my colourful life. I shall not be inviting Wazzer Rooney to ghost write it.

Ibiza you ask. Well, I gave in, I was going to leave this trip until the end of May, but given the weather here, I couldn’t delay it any longer. It is for work! We are tattooing leather for a couple of clients, so I’m going to drop some off and pick some up, and do a fitting for a suit. Neil is carving skulls, plus clouds, some lotus flowers, perhaps even a butterfly into the shoes of the good and the great.

CWF 1

Charlie will be so pleased to get his shoes back, that’s such an Ibiza name isn’t it? Photos will be available on the blog, and on Facebook, for those of you who are allowed accounts.

I may add to my collection, but the customer always comes first. In my case it will not be shoes, it will be tattoos of the flesh. Neil thinks my latest design is a little effeminate, not the word he used, but I think this way is a little more polite. I’ll run it past Eugene he’s driven down from Copenhagen to spend a few days. There is a bar in the marina where a drink is named after him, and after my last visit when we were all together in September, I have absolutely no idea what it was called, or maybe I just can’t remember! If I call you at 5am to wake you, just ignore me.

One thing I can guarantee is that we won’t be sleeping a lot, but will I don the mankini? I think it will be Pacha, Amnesia, Pacha, Amnesia, Pacha, Amnesia. Sorry where was I? Then I won’t be able to pass up a foam party, and head off delirious to DC10 where I shall jump up and down trying to grab the undercarriage of incoming planes. You know I’m high on life.

Stop press…. Mateo can’t make it he will be spending Easter with the lovely Cristina, so the mankini will be mine! But, Martin from Argentina will be there, now the wheels will certainly come off. I have photos of him snorkelling in the snow in Verbier, wearing nothing more than a smile. At least that’s what it seemed like, but it was hard to tell it was so cold and he was face down. As a very good friend of mine would say “Bere”, it’s a great shame that on this occasion she won’t be joining us, hopefully next time.

I’ll be back Tuesday night, with Ryanair!!!!!!  I know, never say never. It was the only way I could get back to meet some friends who are coming from Italy for a month to learn English, but I will not be teaching them, I shall leave that to a professional.

With regard to last month, some of you were a little confused about the 24 not 22 comment, and one or two of you gave some quite surprising suggestions. Let me lay rumours to rest. The 24 bus takes me from home to Vash and back again, and the 22 goes past The Wolseley, I use the 24 not the 22. Thank you for the flattering remarks.

I supply the newsletter in printed form, in a plain brown envelope to one particular lady (she views me as her toy boy, she is after all hmmmm years old), because she says, and I quote “she finds them a little racy”. Once read they are shredded so hubby doesn’t see them. Well hush my mouth I didn’t think I was being that particular shade of grey. Let’s just hope she can cope with the book I’ve just given her as a present.

And finally and this is not a joke. We are now offering a new service we are hand washing and finishing your knitwear, so you can store all your cashmere and merino wool for the summer months, when they finally arrive. There will be a small charge, but I know that many of you are a little worried by the prospect of looking after your cashmere, so I thought this might help you.

To err is human to forgive is? Well sometimes forgiveness is deserved, sometimes earned, but should be given with an open heart. Gandhi said that the weak can never forgive; forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

Photographs of the trip will follow upon my return!

Copyright © 2013 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.