Mid April 2013 – Newsletter

As the book is started, and the characters are developed, there is one who freely admits he hasn’t progressed beyond childhood, my cup now runneth over and my creative juices are flowing once again. I could crush a grape! Stop pouring Vash.

Looks like there is another book about me doing the rounds. In it, I am painted as something of a Peter Pan character, with the attributes of Captain Hook, and none of those of Mary Poppins. I’ve heard it is one of the greatest works of fiction ever written. I think its title is “The Life I Never Led”.  Tick – tock, tick – tock.

Ever the optimist I will wait for the sequel, it will be quite a challenge to improve on the last one, and I think most of the character development of those involved in the original has been exhausted. So as Tim Robbins said, perhaps I should write two (news) letters a week.

The book will easily transfer to a film. As always Tom Cruise will be aching to play me, but I will have to choose carefully. Perhaps this time, a gritty British actor, I see endless possibilities ahead. Gerard Butler almost has the body, but that inpenetr… accent of his, means that whatever I try to get across in my strange written style will be further lost by his delivery. Or Jason Statham, who comes close, but is always after my ideas for his next suit. I could choose Brando, but then the resemblance would be uncanny, and I love ice cream, especially the dark chocolate one, called Fondente from La Carraia in Florence. Oh, how I miss that.

Versions of the screenplay will appear, but it should have been written by Harold Pinter, sadly he is on a rather long pause; the music by? Certainly not, he’s really out of favour, and I couldn’t stand the wife constantly interfering in my life and affairs. And sadly Richard is no longer around to critique it. How I miss our chats together. He would have constantly corrected my grammar, but I would never have minded.

By now you’ve all read my Ibiza exploits, the tattoos are healing nicely.  Not like last time, when 6 hours in Lycra hot pants meant they took an age to heal. Perhaps wearing the mankini at the same time to travel back in didn’t help either. I don’t want to make Neil that angry again, but I’ll do anything to wave my glo’stick at the night sky.

The dog days of summer will soon be with us. Already people are casting off their winter shells, hibernation is over. The cast that has been attacking your cashmere has become a moth, and fluttered off to lay its eggs and destroy another garment. An exasperated customer told me recently that she had lost so much cashmere to moths, that she was going with her kids to the Butterfly House at Syon Park, to allow them to exact their own form of revenge!

That said we should go back to La Carraia. Oh, yes I should, oh no you shouldn’t, oh stop it. My life is not a pantomime no matter what you think. Anyway, on my last visit to Florence, I can’t say when, it was for legal reasons; they delivered a bath load of Fondente, to my hotel. It’s great for the skin, if not for the waistline. Well I did have to eat my way out.

Some are given to bathing in donkeys (yes I know it’s as*$#s) milk, well I couldn’t possibly comment? No really it would be rude to insult their intelligence. I preferred to bath in the rich cool chocolatiness of Fondente. Attached is a photo. Yes I know there is another flavour, it is Fior di Panna. There were photos of me in the bath, but I wanted you to read to the end of this, rather than swoon at this point, so they were omitted.

Fior di Panna e Fondente!

Ever reminded of Frankie Howerd, I always want to shout “Up Pompeii” each time someone crosses my path. Well OK, up something, but once again we must be sympathetic to spam filters, theirs is a joyless existence. Stopping this, restricting that, what has the world come to! Anyway that’s why I couldn’t post the photos of me in the bath.

My friends can post photos of themselves snorkelling without clothes in the alpine snow. It was absinthe, m’lud, not abstinence that did it. The little green light at the bottom of the bottle said, go, go, go. And so I did. At this point I will introduce a link to a friend’s blog. Gehan writes the Martini Mandate, give it a go, you’ll enjoy it: www.martinimandate.com

Perhaps the Ibiza exploits don’t seem quite so bad now. Eugene and Ina are back in Copenhagen. If you are ever there and are looking for a coffee, his is the place to go. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. Oh yes we do, oh no we don’t, oh give it a rest! We will reminisce, swap stories and then start the party all over again. Hopefully this time with a full compliment.

Real life continues no matter what fantasies I create for myself. Last weekend I went to see Oblivion, just to see if TC was up to playing me. Apparently it was shot in Iceland. The scenery was breath-taking, so I will be booking a trip to see the aurora borealis, be TC and eat whale blubber, any takers?

Eventually even I have to stop tapping the keyboard, but I do have to mention Jake. As many of you who follow football have sympathised with him, he is now sobbing gently under the stairs, when the mighty Wolves are meekly heading for oblivion.

Sent from my new super duper ipad

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.


Mid May 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

Greg, he of cougar fame, has complained he’s not getting it often enough. I thought once a month would be enough for him, but he’s continued to gripe. So I’ve relented but I can’t say whether I’ll be making a habit of it. However I may just dispose of the months and send the newsletter when it suits me, or just when I’m bored, which is most of the time, according to you lot. At least I’ll refrain from tweeting every pip and squeak like Jemima Khan.

A bit like Tim Robbins in  The Shawshank Redemption, I’ll write it twice a month, ensuring that at least Greg gets something more often. He could even use the powers of the newsletter as a seduction tool; a literary blue pill. He’s off to a wedding in Firenze next month and has confided his  hopes that by being mentioned in the newsletter he might strikes it lucky with bridesmaids. I don’t know if Pippa is going to be doing the honours again but if so he’ll be in a long queue behind her.

I’ve continued to work in the window inspired by the success of streets in Hamburg and Amsterdam – not my success; more my tribute. I shall be reviewing my wardrobe though and perhaps donning something more revealing.

I wore shorts to work last week, and before you suggest an alternative, more popular was the rip in the derriere of my trousers created by stepping out of the window. Thank goodness I was wearing something more substantial underneath, rather than the usual thong.

That reminds of a friend who used to work behind the bar at the Embassy Club, many years ago. The uniform was a white vest and the tiniest red satin shorts. Limahl from Kajagoogoo used to try to outdo him in a tutu. Well come on, it was the Eighties and excess was de rigueur, although how my friend’s  shorts amounted to excess I’ll never know, unless of course we’re talking about the overspill.

The other morning we were saved by Jason at the Wolseley;  breakfast was to be taken in an antechamber until he stepped in. Thankfully normal service was restored and the earth continued to turn. I mean, how could I be seen to sit just anywhere? Does nobody know who I am?* Obviously not. Has my infamy not spread far and wide? Yes, yes in for me, in for me, they’ve all got it in for me. I know it’s an old joke.

But now you’ll be happy to know there will be twice as many…………..And please do not complain about the amount of French I am starting to use in the newsletter. It appears many of you have spam filters more sensitive than you are.

And just for Jake, are Wolves safe? He’ll hate that, because now I’ve jinxed them.

By the way Greg, Happy Birthday for tomorrow….don’t think I’ll make a habit of personalising newsletters to all and sundry.

*A certain celeb with an injunction is regretting asking that of a prostitute. She didn’t but Google was her friend and so was Max Clifford.

Sent from my iPad


Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.