There isn’t a whole lot of red around really, in this magnificent sea of blue. Just a little red trim on the shirt collar as a mark of respect to the Chelsea Pensioners; old soldiers who live at the nearby Royal Hospital. We used to be called the Pensioners and to be honest we’ve played like old men sometimes. That’s in the past though. It’s the last day of the season and it’s ours for the taking as long as our nerves don’t get the better of us.
Don’t know what Elvis Costello was on about. I always want to go to Chelsea, like I was born to the place. We pass an antique shop on the Kings Road and a flash of scarlet draws me immediately. There’s an old soldier in his tunic and hat looking the business. He’s admiring something in the window as I approach. Someone shouts
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