Chelsea vs. Bournemouth : 10 October 2026.
The away game at Brentford seemed like a long time ago. That’s because it was a long time ago.
Three whole weeks.
The extended international break which embraced four England games – I couldn’t name all the opponents if you paid me – meant that there was no Chelsea in my life from Friday 18 September to Saturday 10 October.
And, for the first-time ever, I was more than happy. After that dismal performance in West London, I certainly felt that Xabi Alonso needed a lengthy period to replan and reset. I am sure I wasn’t the only one.
What would I do with myself in those three weeks? Unsurprisingly, Frome Town came to the rescue. There would be five games for me to get stuck into.
I took in a home FA Cup tie against Plymouth Parkway on Saturday 20 September. I enjoyed a competitive first half and Frome were in decent form. There really wasn’t much between the two sides. However, in the second period, we offered little until a late charge and fell to a 0-2 defeat. There was a decent crowd of 546, and a good away following from Devon.
On the following Tuesday, our furthest away trip in the league this season and a very competitive match against the same strong Parkway team. Despite conceding a poor goal early on, we recovered well and gave the home team a very tough battle. I was proud of the way we responded. Sadly, a second goal against the run of play proved decisive. An enjoyable match, though.
On Saturday 27 September, our first tie in the FA Trophy this season pitted us against old adversaries Willand Rovers. On a beautiful afternoon at Badgers Hill, Frome Town never really got going. We went 0-1 down on seventy minutes, but with five minutes to go a perfect cross from substitute Jon Davies found substitute Archie Ferris whose old-school header nestled in the net. We went to penalties, and assured efforts from Zak Drew, Albie Hopkins, George Dowling and Jon Davies, aided by two saves from Kyle Philllips, sent us into the next round. The highlight of this game was the appearance of Jimmy the Greek who joined my usual Dodgey match-day companions. He loved it.
On the following Tuesday, we met Somerset rivals Taunton Town at home. This was a decent game. We raced into a 2-0 lead on twenty-one minutes after two goals in a minute from Zack Ali and David Duru. In an open first-half, an own goal gave the visitors a lifeline. In the second period, their rapid breaks caused us problems, and they equalised on the hour. Frome then had a fair few half-chances but could not convert. The attendance of 656 on a wet old night in Dodge was – literally – fan-tastic.
Lastly, I travelled to Yate, just north of Bristol, on Saturday 3 October. Frome laboured on their huge pitch in the first half but kept it scoreless. The second half was a different beast: 0-1 down, 1-1, 1-2 down, 2-2, 3-2 up, 3-3. Our goals came from Albie Hopkins, George Dowling and Sam Meakes. However, the game will be remembered for the phenomenal support of some 100+ Frome supporters in the 520 crowd who really got behind the team. The standard for support for the rest of the season had been set. Top marks all round.
For the Bournemouth game, I left a little later than usual. I drove over to Nunney Catch, where PD and Jimmy joined me for a hearty breakfast before the Willand game a fortnight earlier, but I would be fuelling the car and not my stomach on this occasion. On this short ten-minute drive, the Somerset countryside looked immaculate. There was a surreal quality of light, with the early autumn colours being particularly intense in the surrounding fields and hedgerows, and the stone walls of houses and farm buildings jumping to life too. There was almost an Edward Hopper feel to the light. Everything was vivid and vibrant. It was as if I was being reminded that this was my home and that I was, surely, being foolish to be driving a hundred miles to a distant location. Frome Town, after all, were at home to Sholing up and over that ridge of land that defines Frome’s western border.
But no, London was indeed calling to the faraway towns, and by 8.30pm I had collected PD, Glenn and Parky. I sped east, made good time, and was parked up near Queens Club at 11am.
This was Chelsea’s eighth consecutive match in London, and I had mentioned to a few people recently that I was getting bored to death with it. I craved a fresh field, somewhere different. Thankfully, this will all change with a trip to Everton that is tantalizingly looming on the horizon. I look forward to that.
Has this been Chelsea’s longest-ever run of consecutive games in London? I wasn’t sure. However, I remembered that in 1989/90, the capital boasted no less than eight teams in the topflight (a record – and like this season, with no West Ham) so I checked the start of that season. My findings? From 19 August to 30 September, we played eight consecutive league games in London and nine with a home League Cup tie.
Is everyone still awake?
On the drive to London, we had spent many a minute discussing the modern malaise of topflight football, namely the dullness of the passing routines that dominate modern football.
Maybe it is because we will be celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of our magnificent 1997 FA Cup win this season, but I have been reminiscing about 1996 of late, and I made the point that in addition to us, there were entertaining teams everywhere you looked in the Premier League in 1996/97. Manchester United was a team of swashbuckling heroes, Arsenal could play a bit, Newcastle United were magnificent, Liverpool had some decent players, and even Sheffield Wednesday had Benito Carbone, Middlesbrough had Juninho and Southampton had Matthew Le Tissier. These days, we have regimented patterns of play and pressing statistics.
It’s enough to make a man cry.
My pre-match was spent in two locations; “The Half-Moon Café” for a full English, and then “Walham Green” for a few drinks with the usual suspects, where I again quoted Ian Dury with a post on “Facebook.”
“I could be the driver of an articulated lorry.”
I left to take a few outside shots of Stamford Bridge with my trusty SLR and was inside as early as 2pm. I wanted a few moments of quiet contemplation before the rough and tumble of a Premier League game. Over in the West Stand, our erstwhile travelling companion Ron Harris was attending his first game at Chelsea for eighteen months; he was a guest of the club with his son and daughter, celebrating the refit of the Harris Suite.
The team news?
Emiliano Martinez
Josh Acheampong – Maxence Lacroix – Levi Colwill – Pep Chavarria
Jordan Henderson – Moises Caicedo
Pedro Neto – Cole Palmer – Morgan Rogers
Joao Pedro
We had commented during the day that we are loathe to spend any money at Stamford Bridge – on programmes, on food and drink, on merchandise of any kind – and that, in reality, it shouldn’t be like this. I should be happy to give Chelsea some extra pennies during the season in addition to my £1,030 season ticket. But such is the sense of resentment with many of the club’s policies, that I tend to spend nothing at all these days. With half-an-hour to go, I was absolutely parched but immediately resented paying £4.59 for a bottle of “Diet Coke.”
No sale.
The ground filled up slowly. In the fourth row of The Sleepy Hollow, PD, then Alan, then Clive – fashionably late – joined me.
Overhead, blue skies. Inside, a fine mild temperature. Down at “The Shed”, a super new banner depicting the proud image of Bobby Tambling was held aloft.
It seemed implausible that it was October and yet we had only played just five league games.
But the time had arrived for our next one.
“Let’s go to work.”
The game began.
Within seconds of the start, we witnessed a foraging run from Palmer, in the inside right channel, and he was allowed space. He ate up the yards. As he approached the white lines of the Bournemouth penalty area, and halted his strong run to reposition his mind and look for options, I asked Alan “where’s Frank Lampard when you need him?” which has become a somewhat sad rhetorical question that I have often trotted out since he departed from our team in 2014.
Despite four other Chelsea players in the box, including full back Chavarria, the ball was instead played back towards Henderson, in prime Lampard territory, and the new signing took a perfect swipe at goal from the edge of the “D.” Luckily, I was right behind the course of the ball and saw it swerve, perfectly, beyond the reach of former blue Djordje Petrovic. It did not matter one iota that the shot clipped the post on the way in. We were 1-0 up and barely sixty seconds had elapsed. I clicked as the unlikely scorer raced off towards the East Lower in reckless abandon.
There was a quick “THTCAUN / COMLD” from Alan and myself, and I checked my phone for a couple of messages. Before I had a chance to really pay much attention to our next move, I saw the ball work its way out to the left-hand side of the Bournemouth penalty area and it fell for Morgan Rogers to clip a fine curler towards the goal. I judged there to be a slight flick-on from the head of a Bournemouth defender. It did not matter; the ball curled into the other corner of Petrovic’ goal.
Fackinell.
We were 2-0 up after – what? – just over two minutes?
Alan doubted we had ever scored two goals so early in our one-hundred-and-twenty-one-year history. Don’t worry, I haven’t looked it up.
There was the slight worry of the goal being chalked off due to offside, but VAR didn’t spoil it.
Just after, I saw that Frome Town were 1-0 up in beautiful bucolic Dodge City thanks to a George Dowling strike against Sholing, whose squad had been bolstered recently by the arrival of Andrey Shevchenko’s son Kristian. Just four minutes had passed in that game.
Everything was rosy in SW6 and BA11, but being a typical football fan, we all knew that my two team’s opponents could easily put the kibosh on proceedings.
Indeed, in the fifth minute of play at Stamford Bridge, a rapid break down the Bournemouth left, and a ball that just beat an offside shout allowed Rayan a chance, but he blazed wildly over.
We, unsurprisingly, dominated possession, but I have to say that at times the reluctance to push on and move the ball quickly was a little annoying. Midway through the first half, the away team enjoyed a little spell, but we coped with everything. Despite the 2-0 lead, I found myself getting upset with bits of our play, whether it was a ball that was played behind a team mate rather than in front – meaning an extra touch, some dithering, and the disruption of momentum – or the lack of movements of players into acres of space.
Maybe they were all waiting for everyone to be perfectly set before Passing Play 78/e could take place.
With Bournemouth looking a little more competent, I semi-seriously muttered something about “this game going 2-2 at this rate.”
A shot from Henderson drifted wide.
Cole Palmer, an extended deal recently signed, was a joy to watch on many occasions during this period.
He just does things…differently.
Watching Chelsea without him over the past few seasons would have been so much grimmer.
On thirty-eight minutes, another tight ball through to Rayan that again looked offside – to Alan and me anyway – and the Brazilian sped onto the ball. His shot at goal was well parried by Martinez, and the ‘keeper – clumsily – saved the follow-up shot from Ryan Christie. The loose ball was hacked away by Chavarria. Late on in the half, Martinez saved well from Antonio Silva.
It was 2-0 in SW6 and 1-0 in BA11 at the break.
After the debacle at Brentford, this was so much better. At half-time, we were happy bunnies.
The second half began and Chelsea again got off to a storming start. A lovely ball from Acheampong on the right was swept forward to Neto, and I photographed the moment that he rode a tackle from Silva, gathered himself, then spotted the waiting Joao Pedro inside the box. There was another Lampardesque finish here, and I caught our striker’s firm smash of the ball that flew into the net.
Pedro Neto to Joao Pedro.
For Pete’s sake, we were 3-0 up.
We had played just one minute of the second period. And it looked like my worries about a 2-2 scoreline were unfounded.
However, just five minutes later, an archetypal defensive mess from Chelsea and the away team plundered a goal. A low corner from in front of the quiet away corner was not cleared. Caicedo hacked at the ball, but the clearance struck Evanilson and ricocheted into the goal.
Again, we endured a slightly shady spell. But thank heavens that Moises Caicedo was back in the team. His positional play really is impressive.
On the hour, Alan muttered “we are hanging on here.”
Thankfully, on sixty-seven minutes, a fantastic ball just down below me by Chavarria – full of earnest endeavour, full of running – was tee’d up beautifully for that man Joao Pedro to poke home.
Thankfully he provided me with some lovely moments to photograph as he ran towards us.
“Joao Pedro again, olé, olé.”
Beautiful.
It was 4-1 now.
Phew.
Just three minutes later, a free kick in a very good position, and I photographed the whole shebang. Firstly, Palmer and Henderson chatting. Then the dummy from Palmer. Then the strike from Henderson.
What a beauty.
Petrovic was beaten with an incredible curler.
The photos continued as the two Chelsea players ran away together, pointing at each other. This training-pitch gem had been brilliantly reconstructed on the Stamford Bridge pitch.
“Hendo again, olé, olé.”
5-1.
Lovely.
The Matthew Harding begged The Shed to give them a song, and they – quietly – obliged.
Xabi Alonso made some late changes.
72 minutes : Romeo Lavia for Caicedo and Marco Palestra for Joao Pedro.
The debutant Palestra instantly reminded me of Paolo Maldini.
83 minutes : Danny Welbeck for Neto.
84 minutes : Estevao for Rogers.
88 minutes : Malo Gusto for Palmer.
Standing ovations for all five from me, if not too many others.
In the ninety-second minute, Estevao should have made it six but his shot from close-in failed to force a save.
Sadly, down in Deepest Dodge, Frome Town succumbed to a ninetieth minute goal that gave Sholing – no Shevchenko junior, nor his watching father – a share of the points.
Not to worry. This had been a decent game in West London, and the three points – plus five goals – gave us all a welcome fillip before our travels begin.
Right then, how do I get to Merseyside?
The International Break : Game One – Frome Town vs. Plymouth Parkway.
The International Break : Game Two – Plymouth Parkway vs. Frome Town.
The International Break : Game Three – Frome Town vs. Willand Rovers.
The International Break : Game Four – Frome Town vs. Taunton Town.
The International Break : Game Five – Yate Town vs. Frome Town.
London Again, Olé, Olé.
