Bloody hell I say and I'll say it again BLOODY HELL. A goal fest and where was I? I'll bloody well tell you, I was warming the effin bench again.
It's every player's dream to play in a World Cup and as you know Brazil 2014 was a washout for me after Roy and the boys' mums objected to my infractions with taking the youngsters to see those honky tonk women in Miami. I was doing them a favour, weren't I?
So now I've been keeping my nose clean(ish) expecting "Mr. Southgate" to reciprocate now that I am a "model professional" and what do I get - no playing minutes. I ask you. What's the point of living like a monk? Maybe I should have sneaked out of my hotel room with Ashley Young last week, necked a bottle of vodka and shagged some of those Brazilian girls upstairs, for all the good this abstinence is doing me. It's affecting my mental health, not to mention my reputation.
Look, I need some playing minutes right? My contract's up next season and I want to go to Real Madrid, Paris St. Germain or even Man City so I need to show what I can do on the world stage to get those offers in. But what's happening...that friggin' Harry Kane, well he's hogging all the goals.
We've scored eight so far and he's got five of them, greedy bastard. Five and all pens or deflections, jammy git. That Panama match was right up my street - inferior opposition resorting to acts of petty violence on our pretty boys. I could have got in there with a couple of crunching tackles, sharp elbows and we would have scored even more. I'd even have got one myself if bloody John Stones could get a brace.
Central defender two World Cup goals? Jesus. I'd better be in that Belgium match or there'll be trouble.