Hi, readers.

You'll be glad to know I didn't spend the international break moping around, sitting on my ass because Don Fabio overlooked me once again. One thing I've learned as I have climbed my way to the top of the footballing tree is that you don't get anywhere by feeling all sorry for yourself.

I know certain players who would have sulked and bitched for weeks on end had they suffered as badly as I have at the hands of England managers over the last eight years or so. But not me. I knew that I had to pull my finger out if I was going to get over this latest international rejection.

So I did what any self-respecting Premier League footballer would do in my shoes - I rounded up all the youth team lads not even good enough to be called up for the U19 internationals and went on a two-day bender to Amsterdam.

The perfect way to blow off a few cobwebs, I thought. Let off a bit of steam, and show the young lads the importance of team-bonding at the same time. Come back to training on Monday feeling all refreshed and ready for the final push at the end of the season.

For all my good intentions, it turns out that it wasn't as good an idea as I thought. Not through any fault of my own. I did my research. It's not like I actually wanted us to get caught. England are playing at Wembley, I thought, Ireland are in Italy: best to steer clear of London and Rome.

Northern Ireland are playing Slovenia at home, but obviously there's no chance I was going to take a bunch of 17-year-old youth team players to Belfast anyway. I mean, I only wanted to get out of my face and go to some girly-bars, not stabbed in the kidney while having my wallet nicked.

And before I got my agent to book our flights and hotel, I also check where Scotland were playing, just to be safe. I see they're playing the Netherlands away. Great, I thought. So we'll be fine in Amsterdam.

Wrong! How am I supposed to know Amsterdam is in the Netherlands? I mean, who do I look like? Stephen Hawking? I could have sworn Amsterdam was in Holland.

Only when me and nine lanky, pre-pubescent Jay-Z wanabees start wandering round the red-light district do we realise that keeping a low profile isn't going to be an easy task with 3,000 pissed-up Jocks stumbling round the streets, scrapping and puking on street corners until all hours.

Me and the young lads, we can't get a bit of peace and quiet anywhere. I try all my usual favourites: Love Club 21, Club Bianca, Amsterdam Private - they're all rammed. And not only can we not get a seat, I'm being recognised by everyone. Worse still, I'm being photographed too.

The last straw is some fat jock in a tartan hat and ginger wig pulling up his kilt and asking me to autograph is backside. I told the youth team I was going to the bar for another round of tequila and ducked out the back door.

I jumped in a taxi and asked the driver to take me to the most expensive hotel in town. No chance of finding any Scots there, I thought. Wrong again. I only gets dropped off at the hotel the Scotland squad are staying at.

Just as I'm thinking of cutting my losses and catching the next flight back home, I find a couple of the Scots players I know sat in the bar, twiddling their thumbs. And it turns out the night isn't a total write-off after all...

Back at training a couple of days later, I wasn't feeling as refreshed as I thought I might have been. I feel absolutely rotten. Thankfully, although my hangover makes me look like Niklas Bendtner on a bad day, it's nowhere near as bad as our South American lads, who have spent the week on a 32-hour round trip to play an international on top of some mountain in Bolivia.

Thanks for your comments last week. I'll try and answer a couple of your questions.

Herb Superb asks about my savings account: don't you worry, my friend. Us footballers don't get a lot of credit, but we're not as stupid as we sound. Most of my savings are in a trusty high-rate account in a bank in Iceland. Safe and sound there, last time I checked.

RedcastleLifer! asked about the lovely Nadine Coyle. Well mate, I can't say I'm a fan of her music, but that's not to say she's not someone I don't think about a great deal...My agent works for the same management company as Girls Aloud. A couple of months ago, I actually gave my agent a note to give to her agent. Just waiting to hear back now.

Thanks, lads. Until next week.