And lo! A game where much Happiness did Abound amongst ye commonweal of fans! To klaralewisbegynne with, Muche clapping and Pendants and Colours of Various hue and meaning were unfurled between followers of Bothe teams; with the sole gain of Mutual Encouraygement in causes Dear to Bothe; and this did give a Goodly and enjoyable aspect to a game that was a bit of a damp squib for a bit.

Ye Lads, still lookynge like escapees from Ye Rod, Jayne and Freddy asylum, did play in a moste effective manner with Young Abeid looking a “born to it” regular. Ye Runaway Train that is Tiote is going to have a job on getting his place back, or should do if there’s any justice, or sense, or 20-20 vision behind the scenes which I still doubt. But two Goales of High Renowne by our young Spaniard and our Captayne did add a feeling that some flair and steel is Now Reemerged.

And at the whistle that signifyede Ye ende of the Day’s Sport, My Lord’s Reeve Pardieuw did pirouette and raise up his Thumbe in a manner Moste Reminisaunte of dreaded Mark King from Level 42, and ye Signale was registered by My Girt, Fatte, Lord Ashely; who must be thinkynge of buying a burger or two with the saved severance payment.

And Yet Agayne, Ye Numbskulls and Dullards of Ye Londoyne Press did descende upon our Happiness and call us Hypocrytes, Scoundrels, know nowts and Pox heads and Thicke Ignorant Northern Scum who Could Notte knowe what the difference between Guacamole and mushy peas are (like Ye Dashinge Courtier Lord Mandelson of Ill Repute does) or Mispellers of Bedsheetes and Pillow Chewers, Notte to mention a bunche of Players of Ye Pinke Oboe. Just cos we’ve won a few matches and they’ve NEVER liked us or understood us, Ye Dullards of Ye Londoyne Press (who are, as a bunch, Moste Thick, like Ronny Barker’s specs) convenientley forgetteth Ye protests by the Red Manc lot with their short temper’d Intoleraunce of ye dour Gollum-like Moyes, but that’s alright because most of them are still dislodging themselves from the 4 lane motorway that is Ferguson’s arse; and Cannotte see Ye Sun, or their owne Handes for the encrusted Scotch shitte in their eyes. Fuck them, they just want to make you behave in a manner they can deal with. We’re not (yet) serfs tilling the football industry’s plough. Our game, our club, our right as paying fans to make ourselves heard. It’s a democracy and this is our entertainment.


1) Invisiblegirl – Fun

2) Daisy Victoria – Nobody Dies

3) Capital Letters – Smoking My Ganja

4) Klara Lewis – Shine

5) Witching Waves – Better Run

6) Dean Blunt – MERSCH

7) Richard Dawson – Nothing Important

8) Todd Tobias  –  Lamura

9) Black Star Liner – Low BMW

10) Saycet – Volcano