³ÉÈËÂÛ̳

All right chaps 'n lasses. This is it. Robbo's last ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ blog. It's been about nine years so summat had to give. There's a lot of people I'd like to thank and a few I'd like to smack with a hot parmo.

But it's not over. , only in a place where you work-shy scoundrels can't get it past your officee filters. I still expect your full attention.

Not least 'cos the final team to get promoted provides an opportunity for a truly gut-wrenchingly clichéd last effort as a Towering gave the Bluebirds a little Eyeful and will illuminate the top league after Holloway's bunch of donkeys (according to the bookies' pre-season odds) triumphed.

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• - What's this?

OK. First of all, why do we need to spend a shedload of cash on

What are they going to do exactly? Flounce about being really flipping annoying. Couldn't we have just used

Incidentally, if there are some poor saps getting paid for dressing up as Wenlock and Mandeville, then can't we make some lunched-up, fizz-sorted, pin-striped city bankers do it while we toss IOUs at them or, even better, rotting fruit.

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• - What's this?

It's not a good tale to tell the children, is it? I couldn't help thinking 'the baddies have won. Again.'

There'll be no Hollywood epic of the 2010 Cup Final, which is a shame, as there was enough in it for a damn fine script to emerge. Chelsea hit more bits of woodwork than an erratic carpenter in the first half. Saloman Hassungotta Kalou was back to his worst.

I sometimes think that a footballer's haircut is a good barometer of how well they think they're doing - and Kalou's 'I was run over by motorbike' look suggests self-confidence.

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• - What's this?