Alice, The Palace and the Absence of Malice
As self-appointed Poet in Residence, I thought I’d mark the return of the Mighty Blues to some sort of pitch related activity. Mixed in with the intrigue.
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The Bi-Polar Express – Class of 2009/10 – End of Term Report
A Familiar Haunt... A solitary beam of sunlight filters through the tall stained glass window in the Grand Hall of St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School.
Season 2010/11: It's All About the Right Altitude
Dr Bayou’s Fantastic Facts for the Full-Time Fan (or the passing dilettante for that matter) While contemplating the season ahead, I heard in my mind’s.
(Pabst) Blue Ribbon and Blue Velvet
Celebrating a season and a life Any of you who care to know are by now aware that Dennis Hopper has died. It wasn’t unexpected, his rapid decline in.
Where Mathematical Theory and Football Collide... and It’s Not Pretty An ageing Teddy Boy who tries to squeeze into those old strides one more time, will.
A meditation on the rise of the Scottish detective and the fall of Scottish football (Author’s note: as this piece was written by someone who is not.
The Bi-Polar Express End of Term Report Part II: The Worst of the Worst
The school hall has been quiet for a couple of weeks now. The grand hall of St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School for Bi-Polar Excellence has been bathed.
Well, when it looked as though the country’s artistic elite would let us down with not a line, rhyme, portrait or sculpture to greet the arrival of our.
The Bi-Polar Express End of Term Report: Class of 2008/09
The scene is the grand hall of St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School for Bi-Polar Excellence, somewhere in a leafy suburb in South West London Town. The.
The Bi-Polar Express, nee The Chelsea Planet, nee The Chelsea Times
Are we sitting comfortably folks, or are we crossed legged with the sheer excitement of Saturday’s Big Cup Final? Or is it because you’re all still.
Well folks, here we are again for another edition of The Chelsea Times, which I’m rather inclined to rename The Chelsea Planet simply because it sounds.
Platini, Drogba, the Fourth Estate – Just Who is the Fucking Disgrace?
I often wonder what you can actually see from up on the moral high ground. Asylum seekers eating swans, MP’s rolling around in piles of ill-gotten cash?.