It’s My Birthday and I’ll Have You Killed if I Want to

Watching that enjoyably lobotomised MTV show My Super Sweet 16 I’ve always thought it must be ace to have really rich and famous parents. It’s carte-blanche to behave like a complete prick the whole time, because, you know, they were never there for you, and they, like, totally don’t understand how cruel life can be when you pull into school in your ’08 Range Rover Sport only to see Sarah Jessica Parker’s cousin parking the new Hummer H3. I think it was Luthor Vandross’ son who actually cried and locked himself in his room all day because his dad couldn’t even get Kanye West to play at his party…I mean come on, surely that’s grounds for child abuse?

But there’s rich, and then there’s buy-your-own-country rich. Outside of guys who’s first name is ‘Sheik,’ the richest guy I know is Roman Abromovich, so as his daughter Anna prepares to make the intrepid journey into womanhood (i.e. get finger-banged behind a fruit machine by someone who’s 378^th in line for the throne), he’s taking a break between building mobile lairs to throw her a party she’ll never forget. The exclusive bash will be held in an as-yet-unnamed trendy West End night-spot, and headlining will be wanky nu-ravers The Klaxons and, er, ‘esoteric’ Brazilian electro-rock outfit CSS. The somewhat Chernobyl-affected young lady has even been boasting about all this over the excellent media node that is Facebook, telling anyone who’ll listen that her party will “beat the crap out that shit Live-8.”

It seems though that for the right price (or thinly-veiled threat) anyone is for sale, as Klaxons’ frontman James Righton is a huge Tottenham fan, and even once missed out on a trial with Leicester in the past because he refused to replace his Spurs shirt with the Foxes’ kit. Just what did it take then for him to acquiesce to the Chelsea owner’s request? Rumour has it that Roman offered to give Spurs his choice from John Obi Mikel, Florent Malouda and Salomon Kalou, but thankfully Righton saw through his clever ruse, leaving the pair to settle only on the young girl’s virginity as payment instead, as was the way in colonial Russia.

Sorry Roman that was a bad joke, please don’t have me killed! I really like Chelsea, they play great football, and your daughter’s very pretty in a pristine, Victorian novel kind of way. Not that I fancy her though if that’s worse…I like whatever you like ok.

Born Sniffing

Friends, Northerners and Journeymen, welcome to Sniffing the Touchline, your new one stop web service for all English football news, gossip, brazen lies and mascot-related hilarity.

Considering the amount of rubbish blogs currently dedicated to such Olympian titans of sport as snail racing and competitive mayonnaise eating, it is truly a tragedy that thus far no-one has manned up and established a fully comprehensive footballing node.

But wait, put down the knife and take those bullets out your 9, because finally that gaping void has now been expertly filled, and all things being well, we at STT will continue to plough that field until the metaphorical cows come home. And no, that isn’t a joke about Coleen.

This blog is born out of a true love of the game; the skills, the drama, the cheating and the truly revelationary haircuts that come with it. In true British gossip-mag style, we also aim to bring you as much heresay, rumour and public scandal as humanly possible, all written in a way that will hopefully put a smile on your face at work, or if you’re posh enough to have a Blackberry, on the toilet.