Mid April 2013 – Newsletter

Posted on April 19, 2013 by volpeadrian

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.

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

March 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on March 30, 2013 by volpeadrian

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.

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!

January 2013 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on January 31, 2013 by volpeadrian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on December 31, 2012 by volpeadrian

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.”

November 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on November 30, 2012 by volpeadrian

Firstly, as you know the newsletter is available through the website, and now has the benefit of having photos to accompany some of the stories. As we progress these will be back-dated over the years. Yes, those of you that doubted me, the newsletter will soon have been running for two years.

Siena Sunset

Currently outside it is cold, cold, cold, and my hands are hovering above the keyboard numb and unresponsive. Like a Saturday morning, after Friday night with Vash. There are those of you who have either shared or encountered me on these nights, and you’ll know what I mean, because you will have been there too.

Now November has passed, the number of you sporting facial hair for good causes has been a revelation, but I suppose you’ll all be looking forward to a nice clean shave.

Partners and wives, I have been told will be much happier, although some of the facial topiary has been spectacular. Now I feel I can say it, but a friend who considers himself to be very masculine; the word “butch” comes to mind, has been rendered as camp as Christmas with his handlebars. I daren’t tell him, because he’s bigger than me.

I will of course revert from being a wolf man, as after every full moon to my primped, preened and polished normality. Ramone specifically has complained that he will have to use the clippers before applying the wax. Hollywood. Careful man!

Talking of handlebars, I have purchased a bicycle. I bought a “fixie”, but being a southern softie I am running it on a free wheel. I do of course value my knees, which when using a fixie, is the only way of stopping. Yes, by peddling backwards! Gnilddep. Oh, forget it!

Thank you, those of you who have made suggestions of what I should buy, and David especially. He has always been quick to point out where I might go wrong! But the main reason for buying a bicycle was to get into fluorescent lycra again. As I no longer ski, or club regularly, it is the only way I can legitimately wear lycra in public without being arrested, well as long as I am on the bike. So very “Emperor’s New Clothes”. Remember the mankini?

A friend is a little nervous about his first mention in the newsletter, but not as nervous as he was when he met Neil for the first time. Neil looked him over like a blank canvas tattoo needle at the ready, poised to tattoo the Sistine Chapel.

Anyway I digressed. Yes I know, I always do!

This friend has been complaining that he hasn’t been using his Ducati anywhere near as much as he should. So, yesterday he qualified this statement by saying that his new home will only be 4 miles from the office, rather than the current 6. As he is pretty fit, he could perhaps push it to and from work every day. Given the reliability of the bike, and the opportunity to keep fit, I think this is possibly a win-win scenario. He is also the only person I know that can out techie Jake when it comes down to pistols at dawn over their iphone 5s.

The UK economy, like many in Europe is now under the control of a former Goldman Sachs employee, and a Canadian to boot. Not that I have anything against either, but it looks that Europe may be turned into a very large investment bank. Oh! You mean it is already. Apparently a former GS cleaner is being lined up for a job in the Italian Finance Ministry, she by all accounts a bit of a stunner. Dear Silvio’s influence from afar continues uninterrupted.

Inkadelic in India

Neil has returned to Ibiza, after a very big party in India and a couple of weeks telling the Dali Llama where he’s going wrong. Peace will return, imported from Nepal, no expense spared back to Ibiza. The photos he sent me were spectacular.

I shall finish with a true story, not a joke!

So a friend wearing a pair of £5 sale sunglasses was walking along the beach with his wife. Like many of us he is a tad vain, but on this occasion his is amazed by the reaction of people staring at him as if he had a new found celebrity status. Just to make sure he gazed down to ensure that he was still wearing his swimming shorts, such was the response.

At this point the gentle stroll along the beach had turned into a swagger with all the subtly of a “pimp roll”. His wife was starting to worry, and suggested they stop in a beach side café for a refreshing glass of wine. Here the response was the same, so my friend asks his wife if she has noticed anything about his new found magnetism.

She replies straight faced, that apart from a missing lens in his sunglasses he looked no different.

Remember, you buy cheap, you buy twice.

October 2012 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on October 31, 2012 by volpeadrian

Cast your mind back 12 months, or at least take a look at last year’s October Newsletter, and I draw your attention to the closing line.

Finally someone got there, but we will return to this rich vein.

Now one or two of you out there, and there are one or two of you out there, have said last month’s Newsletter was a little flat; that I could have tried harder, more studio in Kensal Rise, than penthouse in Mayfair, just going through the motions.

Well excuse me, I was trying, not that you thought so. So I am hoping this is my Skyfall, when on reflection Quantum of Solace wasn’t all that bad. Bond is the only person I know with more gadgets than Jake, he is our own personal “Q”.

Jake’s hoping that he may discover a way of predictive, predictive text, spotting the errors before he thinks of them, or reading my mind, so not much hope of that then as I thought of it first. I know your game sonny Jim, and it’s not going to save the Wolves.

So I will continue to blindly stab at the keys on my now ancient ipad. However to avert total blindness I have resorted to wearing spectacles, because that is what they are. Most people have been quite complimentary about them, but little did you know they have an x-ray vision mode. I always wanted a pair of them after I saw them in the back of a comic as a child, however trust me you don’t always want them switched on. Ewwwwweee.

Saturday afternoons are amongst my favourite moments in the shop. Normally I have Darren and Michael around for company. Darren knows as much about clothing as anyone I know, and Michael, well Michael is Michael. His favourite scent as you now know is Auld Wood (sic.), Darren described the smell as the essence of Viagra and crushed Werthers Originals, so once again we are back with Jimmy Savile.

Between Darren and Michael I think they have tried most of Mr Ford’s fragrances, and they agree that Auld Wood is the best. As I do not use a fragrance and prefer to air dry after a shower, I couldn’t possibly comment. Try and banish that thought from your memory, but the multi-coloured toe nails and tattoos always provoke a comment or two in the gym. As you can see my coterie of waxers and polishers are once again dutifully employed.

Michael is going to have to move out of his house for nine months, after being flooded by a neighbour. The flooding was so severe that they are going to have to rip out the concrete floors, because the water has penetrated the under floor heating system, turning the whole house into a giant toaster. I’m going round with the brioche and foie gras before he moves.

Neil has been and gone. He came to arrange his visa for India and get drunk with me. Once again he is off to sit atop a mountain and gaze upon the setting sun, perhaps after trying a natural herbal remedy it might resemble the setting sun. Take some more remedy Neil, the effect is wearing off.

Italy is now jailing anybody who has predicted anything. After jailing the seismologist who didn’t predict the strength of the earthquake in Aquilla, they are lining up cases against the weather forecasters, and if you are interested in your horoscope they may well burn you at the stake, as a witch. As we know the results of Italian football matches are predicted weeks in advance, giving you plenty of time to get a bet on. Where the offside rule is wilfully misunderstood, and the refs cover their mouths so you can’t see what they are saying once they have finally made a decision and informed the powers that be, of the details of their Swiss bank account. In fact I predict the word “predict” may have to be removed from the language altogether, along with “taxes”. Oh, sorry they have done that already.

This weekend I saw the first snow of the winter. I was at Montesenario, a convent on a hilltop just outside Florence. In the summer it can be a little crowded because of the beautiful views over all of Tuscany. On days like Sunday it is deserted and there is a strange, eerie silence when the clouds are low and the rain has turned to snow. However there is a cafe to stop, take respite from the weather and enjoy a glass of wine. Once again I have returned to my creative writing course and I have become Sean Connery to Jake’s, Christian Slater. In order to control nature, one must first learn to obey it. As yet I am no Umberto Eco, as some of you have pointed out.

Recently when I have returned from Florence, I have been smuggling in various Neapolitan tarts, supplied by Rita, and one or two of you who live locally have been very keen to sample them, along with an espresso with a little something in it, perhaps a Grappa or Sambuca. Close to Florence there is a town called Montecatini-Terme, and it has a certain reputation, where you can also relax and sample tarts of all descriptions. However there is a local expression, “finito solde, finito amore”, I can assure you the love of our tarts lasts a little longer.

Dimme tutto cara.

If you are reading this the day after I sent it, then today is my birthday. It is a national holiday in many countries, how thoughtful of them. I am beyond celebrating them. They are just a reminder of how well I misspent my youth. How I would love to go back and take that callow youth to one side and explain to him that it will all be OK in the end, and that you should never really worry about what other people think, be yourself, enjoy your life to the full. So to those of you who thought last month’s Newsletter could have been better, my answer is ” Yes I know, and I thank you for your input, and I accept the criticism gracefully, you were perhaps right. However it’s my Newsletter and like my life, it’s for me to mess up. So I’m off to do more legal drugs, have more tattoos and get very, very drunk. So who else is coming?” Vash (Who also had a birthday this week), open a bottle, your work starts now.

Seneca said, “If you wish to be loved, love”.

Well I think that had a bit everything, humour, self-pity, philosophy and pathos.

Oh, and I forgot a little Jimmy Savile, thank goodness, he never fixed it for me.

October 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on October 31, 2011 by volpeadrian

BOO

Yes, a little Halloween humour, and as you know the newsletter is more trick than treat

And tomorrow is my birthday. Yes, All Saints Day and 21 again.

No wise cracks please.

I had hoped that writing the newsletter would have cured me of my insomnia, but the worry of trying to be amusing month after month is taking its toll, keeping me awake night after night, also worrying where my new ipad2 is. The original ipad has no space left for Apps, and why is it the App I want is always on page 83 of my screens?

One morning after my workout with OT, I returned to the shop to find the door unlocked and the lights on. Most days I go into the shop early, just to switch a few things on and check emails, just in case any of you are up that early, before I head off for breakfast or the gym. But I never leave the lights on and the door unlocked. As I peered in through the door I could make out Jake’s unshaven features. He had arrived very early, 9am, and was waiting to take delivery of his iphone 4S. If this is what it takes to get him out of bed in the mornings, it is going to be a very expensive process. The waiting was finally rewarded the phone was delivered at 3.17pm. However the worst part of it? He has a Wolves shiny gold case (looking slightly duller as each result rolls in – Jake wrote this bit, so don’t complain that I’m giving him a hard time).

And he now only appears concerned with the number of sleeps until Christmas. Does this mean he doesn’t intend to sleep after Christmas?

At breakfast the other morning, Jason at The Wolseley was sharing a little gossip regarding him and Shirley, she is delightful. Don’t I sound like Michael Winner? The day before they had been out to check on the competition, well you know how it is when the day lasts a little longer than it should, but I really think you both are a bad influence on each other and only have each other to blame. I will say no more!

I have also seen Adam’s Ann (Break into a chorus of Prince Charming, Prince Charming) from Cuckoo’s Knob, and what a pleasure it was too. Oh, never mind, am I the only one who remembers the eighties? But it looks like I’m showing my age. Ann appears to be well on the mend, apart from the dizzy spells, and suddenly I am reminded of Friday.

For the mathematicians amongst you, I have been going to a Wine Bar in Leicester Square on and off for about 30 years. I have seen all the managers drunk, and they may have seen me occasionally worse for wear, but Vash the current manager is one of my best friends and I would like to take this opportunity to wish him a Happy Birthday, and he can have Saturday morning’s hangover back. Don, the previous owner of this fine establishment always espoused that life was too short to drink bad wine. Quantity, never quality was always going to be my downfall.

Last week I was back in Rome. Life is hard I hear you say in unison, but the highlight was hopping on a train to Bologna, so I didn’t have to fly back from Fumicino. After visiting a supplier, I had just enough time to visit a chocolate shop called Roccati before returning. Quite excellent chocolate made on the premises and you can see them making it. Apparently Dear Silvio loves it in here, but then you know the old expression about being made out of chocolate. Eeewwwww. Banish the thought Silvio. I always spend far too much money, but I think once every six months is OK.

The clocks have gone back….. For heaven’s sake, Ann has just sent me an email. Will I never get this newsletter finished? I thought the extra hour would give me more time, but I can see I’m going to have to head for the International Date Line, in order to create myself a few extra hours. The International Date Line is not what some of you might think, it is not some chat line to arrange some sort of Bunga Bunga party. What do you take me for?

And as for the passing of Jimmy Saville, when will somebody say what they really think?

March 2011 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on March 31, 2011 by volpeadrian

As you know I like to draw out the suspense with this newsletter vis a vis the end of the month.

However, I’ve been even busier than normal, what with it being my wife Gillian’s birthday on the last day of the month. So it’s only natural that I’ve been distracted by planning a lavish celebration with lots of gorgeous presents. (Gillian – I put this bit in anticipation of lots of gorgeous presents. There will be an update you on the state of our marriage next newsletter.)

Today I’ve cast aside the iPad. I’m rather hung over, and I was unable to focus on the keys. We spent an evening with the man “who is a suit short of a week” and his husband. At least with these two we’re never a glass short of a drink. However he is 6ft 6ins and the expression “hollow legs” was created with him in mind.

I am back travelling again. I had a couple of days in Rome and a bit of spring weather and a meeting with dear Silvio. Just to pick up a few tips mind you. Well you know old dogs, new tricks, and all that.

I spent the time with one of my best friends and his family, the ever youthful Pietroluccis. I’ve known Max 20 years and before you all say it, yes, I really am that old.

He, his brother Mau and father Sergio have not aged one bit. Max ‘Five Vests’ Pietrolucci is a bit of a Godfather name but he needed to keep warm while lodging in Wembley, studying English in London and working with me in Piccadilly in January.

Better than doing national service somewhere crappy in Italy. These days he keeps his temperature up with his voracious appetite for cheese. Vash at the Cork and Bottle has never known anyone eat so much cheese at one sitting!

Max reminded me about the egg box of a kit car I used to drive in those days. Small boys would point and stare in awe at it until dragged away by their mothers. Their dads would stand slack-jawed until dragged away too. Don’t say it; I know you were thinking it!

You could drive it under an articulated lorry to do a short cut on the Hogarth roundabout. I had the hood off in all weathers; well it would be after being driven under a lorry, but it did have a heater.

It was probably the fastest car to 50 mph I have ever driven, but then it would either breakdown or hit a metaphorical brick wall of acceleration, at which point everything I’d overtaken would get me back. But I’ve learnt to cope with the humiliation. I mean it wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.

There have been a large number of new subscribers to the newsletter, and hopefully some of you might do something worthy of writing about. I mean it’s not as if you all have gone into hibernation. Pulses seem to have slowed to a rate where it is hard to tell whether you are alive or not, but in some cases this seems the norm anyway.

The first rays of spring sun, and thoughts turn to, well you can keep those thoughts to yourself.

Anyway David is back in the shorts and driving shoes – green suede, very nice. Andre is sporting his Birkenstocks and not much else it seems, or so he likes to tell me. He’s just arrived back from Miami, no doubt after abusing some poor soul in first class. Perhaps they didn’t want a French wine.

Richard with his sylph-like physique stretches to a jean with a 26 inch waist. He can apparently buy these in Selfridges, either from Dior (so Richard), and Dsquared (so not Richard).

Their assistant was apparently just hangin’ in the department. I am unable to recount Richard’s story of trying on the Dsquared jeans as well as him. These were probably designed by MC Hammer, which once on, he was unable to get off over his feet, trying to stand up and holding on to a rotating rail, which apparently kept throwing him to the floor.

After an hour of struggle he removed the jeans he finally wandered off to Dior to purchase his bling.

Anyway back to the rays of sun. I bet you’ve all been keeping up with Wonders of the Universe on the BBC iPlayer, and Prof Brian Cox, a man who considers himself even more gorgeous than me. (As if that were possible).

No, I hear you say, but yes; bestriding the universe with his floppy hair and moist lips. Traversing mountain tops, deserts and glaciers. Gazing at sunrises and sunsets. Experiencing weightlessness, flying at the speed of sound, and feeling the force of g (yes, I did have to think carefully how I worded that).

Vanity, thy name is Brian. You’re not the Messiah. Just a very naughty boy with a spectacularly good publishing deal, and great hair.

Sent from my iPad 4

May 2010 – Volpe Newsletter

Posted on May 27, 2010 by volpeadrian

It’s been an exciting month, jam-packed with, well, work, actually, so that’s the reason the newsletter is late – before you ask, Sam.

God knows, my wife has tried enough times to get the News of the World to part with £500,000 for a meeting with me, but they weren’t interested so we have to fall back on conventional ways of paying the mortgage.

So, that’s why I’m off to Rome on a whirlwind visit next week and for the first time I’m flying Easyjet so I’ve sharpened my elbows and paid excess baggage in advance. At least I’m landing in Rome, not a different city or a different country.

It’s not that I don’t trust BA to get me there though they have just banned a friend for life. The way he tells it, it was over innocent joshing with a humourless stewardess over a request for a glass of water.

I believe him. Millions wouldn’t.

As he was being assisted down the aircraft steps at Abu Dhabi he queried whether the ban would be for his lifetime or that of the airline. But BA is tied up with other important matters and may never get back to him or the rest of us.

The stewardess should worry. This is a man often found by Housekeeping naked on the bed surrounded by empty bottles after drinking the mini-bar dry. They’ve never complained and have even commented on the thoughtful way he always passes out face down to spare any embarrassment.

What else. Oh yes, there was that election business which was interesting.

Who could begrudge the licence fee that was spent on the BBC’s election night broadcast from the Ship of Fools moored near the London Eye? Andrew Neil mined nuggets of political gold from such top opinion formers as Joan Collins and Bruce Forsyth while the Pinot Grigio flowed.

But hats off to Sky for the most memorable coverage of the election for all the wrong reasons.

I’d have paid money for a ringside seat at ahem, heavyweight Adam Boulton slugging it out with Alastair Campbell. (Look it up on You Tube if you missed it).

Boulton nearly invited Campbell outside but then remembered they were. Outside the Mother of Parliaments. Made me feel proud to be British.

Boulton was transported to finger-jabbing, spitting fury as Alastair did his ‘I’m just a reasonable, stand-up kind of guy who never tells fibs’ routine.

‘Don’t you tell me what I think,’ shouted Boulton, stifling a belch, as Campbell told him what he thought. Boulton looked close to creating an ash cloud that would have closed Westminster airspace when Campbell told him to calm down while smirking.

Later on in round two, poor Boulton was needled by the deceptively charming Ben Bradshaw, the Hugh Grant-lookalike and former Secretary for Culture, Media and Sport, who has a nicer tan than me at the moment.

Has Our Dark Lord been giving Ben tips and sharing yacht space?

Unconfirmed reports have it that Boulton was later wheeled off to a padded room where he could start an argument with the voices in his head. I’d love to see him interview Russell Crowe. Funny how you never see those two in the same room together.

So, Nick and Dave will be like good boys at a birthday party and play pass the parcel without any grabbing. How long will it be before Dave doesn’t agree with Nick and Nick cries over the meagre contents of his party bag?

Meanwhile Little George is still finding unopened final demands stuffed down the back of the sofa at Number 11.

I’ve noticed that in the words of that cheesy song, that it’s goodbye Sam, hello Samantha. The delightful Mrs Cameron has reverted to her proper name now the election is over and she doesn’t have to pretend she’s not posher than the Queen any more. Good for her. The poor woman’s facing the next five years having to pretend she actually likes wearing £19.99 shoes from New Look; she ought to be allowed some dignity.

Speaking of bargain basement shopping, as you can imagine, Primark is not my normal haunt, but I was told of an incident that shows the level of desperation to which our economic climate has driven people.

A young lady explained to me, how she had seen a man ejected by security staff for shoplifting….. I mean, why shoplift from Primark? They’re not far short of paying you to take the stock away. I know David (yes, he of the shorts) calls it as Primarni, so I can only assume that this poor fellow didn’t understand the irony.

I’ve just returned from a pleasant lunch in the West End, where I enjoyed a salad with tofu and a glass of freshly pressed wheatgrass, or also known as: ‘My usual, Landlord’. I’m always grateful for whatever is supplied, especially when Vash is the Landlord and the usual has a certain vintage.

On the bus back, yes, I know that you all expect me to travel everywhere by stretch Hummer, I was confronted by a man with a dog, who had obviously enjoyed an inferior class of wheatgrass.

He was bothering an American lady who I doubt will ever travel on public transport in London again. The upshot being I assisted in ejecting him from the bus, with his long suffering chihuahua, Jackie, who the whole bus felt really sorry for and wanted to adopt. But she loyally followed her master. Dogs really are stupid. Bet he’s the sort to shoplift from Primarni.

Film reviews

This month Hardcore Mother In Law saw:

Lebanon: Das Boot in an Israeli tank

Hot Tub Time Machine: Cruder than the Gulf of Mexico but a lot of fun.

Cop Out: The worst film Bruce Willis has ever made and that includes The Last Boy Scout.