Hi there, PB fans.

Thanks for all the positive comments over the last few weeks. Keep them coming. I love to read the messages from all my fans and if any of you have any questions or subjects you'd like me to talk about, by all means let me know.

For example, someone who calls themselves Pizza left a comment on last week's blog asking whether I would ever consider playing football for an international side other than England.

If I'm being honest, Pizza, it is something that did cross my mind a couple of years back. It all came about after my mum told me out of the blue that my the man I had grown up calling "Dad" wasn't actually my real father.

Apparently, my real Dad was actually a roadie for some American rock band. He had convinced my mum he was the lead singer of Aerosmith and sweet-talked her into a cheeky night of fun in a run-down hotel sometime after a concert in Leeds in 1982.

So, it turns out that if I could be bothered to get the proof of my real old man's nationality, I could probably qualify to play for the USA.

The idea appealed to me for a while. Obviously, I would walk into their side and because of the woeful standard of the CONCACAF opposition, they always qualify World Cups so it was quite an attractive proposition.

But I slowly went off the idea. I really didn't fancy all the travelling, flying over the Pacific every other week to play in some qualifier against Nicaragua or Haiti or the like. Also, I reckoned being the star player and carrying the hopes of an entire nation would get really tiring after a while.

So I put the idea to the back of my mind. International football for me was going to be England or no-one. Possibly Ireland or Wales. Maybe Scotland. But certainly not the USA. Hope that answers your question, Pizza.

As I said, any more questions, fire them over to me. I'm totally delighted that you guys are still obsessed by what I've got to say about my life as a Premier League player.

It really makes me happy to know that I am doing my bit to help the Common Man understand a little bit more about our amazing game.

And it's been an interesting week in the Premier League, with that outbreak of Swine Flu at Blackburn and Bolton.

It was a bit of a shock when the news broke, and really it just goes to show the dangers that we go through week after week in the name of sport and entertainment. It really puts things into perspective and the dedication and professionalism we display in times like this just goes to show why we justify our wages.

Am I scared that I might catch the disease myself? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. The very nature of our sport means that we are a group of young men in close contact with each other.

We train together, we shower together, we change together, we eat together, we travel together, we room together on away trips.

When you look at it like that, you can see how intimate footballers get with each other – and that's not even taking into consideration how up-close-and-personal some of us get with the club physios and masseurs.

The dangers are everywhere.

A bead of sweat from the brow of an opposing player; phlegm from an innocent, misdirected spit; a drop of urine or faeces from a mischievous schoolboy prank between team-mates.

All harmless a couple of weeks ago, but now potentially fatal.

It has really got the wind up me. The day after the news broke, I turned up for training with one of those masks over my mouth and some latex gloves on my hands. The lads really laid into me, but you can't be too careful in a situation like this.

I've heard that people have actually DIED from this thing. It's unbelievable in this day and age that a virus like this can spread so easily and cause so much damage. You know, we can send a man to the moon but we're still dying from flu.

And to think it's all the fault of pigs! They look such nice, innocent little things. I mean, I've seen Babe: Pig In The City a couple of times and there is no clue in that suggesting they could be so dangerous.

I don't reckon I'll ever eat pig again. No chance. Better to be safe than sorry. Roast beef instead of pork for me on a Sunday, and no more ham sandwiches in the club canteen. I'll stick to chicken and bacon, thank you very much.

Until this whole horrible episode has passed by, I will be taking extra care. You've got to remember that this is my livelihood we are talking about. A threat to my body is a threat to my earning-potential.

When you look at it like that, you'll realise why I am treating this as life-or-death.

Until next week (I hope),

PB

What's up, Pharrell Bell fans?

Hope you've all had a good week, in whatever it is you guys do. Thanks to the international break, P-Bell had the chance to take it a little bit easy for a few days.

I still get pissed every time I see an England squad announced and my name not in there, sure I do. Do I think I could do a job for my country? Of course. Name one person with even an ounce of football-knowledge who wouldn't think that?

But if I'm being honest - and you can rely on Pharrell Bell to be honest with you - I'm not actually that bothered about playing for England. If I finish my career never having played for my country, I'm not going to be crying like a girl about it.

To me, playing for England just looks like a bit of an unnecessary ball-ache. A load of hassle for not a lot of reward. There don't seem to be many positives from what I can see - especially in a World Cup Year.

You have your club form dissected in minute detail so that every stray pass or dodgy booking becomes some sort of national catastrophe; you then get called up to the squad and kiss goodbye to your what little time off we get during the season; face long trips to hell-holes like Kazakhstan, the Ukraine and Azerbaijan; and then get slaughtered in the Press afterwards whether you win or lose.

All that - and you don't even get paid for it. Sorry, its just not my cup of tea.

And I'll tell you what: playing for England under Fabio Capello, that doesn't look any fun in the slightest. The guy just looks so strict and grumpy all the time. Not my sort of guy at all.

Can you imagine trying to have a bit of banter with him? No chance. He'd be an absolute nightmare to go on those long away trips with.

And spending three weeks with him during a tournament? I'd be blowing my brains out through boredom after three days in his company. I think if I were an England squad member, I'd probably be privately hoping we DIDN'T qualify for South Africa.

Especially because, if what I hear from a mate of mine who's been in the last few squads, Capello definitely seems to just be a little bit mental. My mate - who was actually trembling with fear as he told me - reckons he's like the Guv'nor of some Death Row prison in the Deep South of the States.

On away trips, he says the players are basically locked inside the hotel complex, forced to play endless games of ping-pong and watch DVDs of 24 and Sex in the City while wardens slowly walk by with huge, slobbering Alsatians straining on chains at their side.

At training sessions, guys in a black uniform patrol the sidelines, staring at you from behind reflective sunglasses as they chew gum and menacingly twirl cudgels around their fingers.

The lads are told that Capello watches everything from a 100ft-high watchtower, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of a silver rifle that glints in the sunshine as it points down at the training pitch, following the movements of players far below.

Would he really feel any pity if any of those dots stopped moving forever? Nobody knows. That's the scary thing.

Because my mate reckons that none of the England players have ever actually met Capello himself. Nobody actually believes he is real. Nobody ever sees him or knows anybody that ever worked directly for him, but to hear my mate tell it, anybody could have worked for Capello. You never know. That is his power.

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone.

I told my mate maybe it's for the best.

For three years under Capello they'll have warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - but maybe produce the Jules Rimet Trophy.

Under Sven Goran Eriksson they had brotherly love, six years of democracy and peace - and what did that produce? A couple of quarter-finals.

Not that it bothers me. As I've said, international football isn't really my bag. It seems a little stupid to me, to be giving so much of yourself away for nothing in return.

I guess, reading this back, what I'm saying is that I no longer want to be considered for England. Capello, if he even exists, can consider this blog my confirmation of retirement from international football.

I've got more important things to concentrate on, like my club. They are who pays my wages, my £25k-a-week. I owe it to them to make sure I am in peak condition for the big games. They showed great faith in me, and now it is time for me to repay them.

Until next week,

PB

Hi readers.

You know, I was being interviewed the other day for one of those football magazines. They sent some girl (a girl - I know!) to the training ground to come and ask me a few questions and take a photo or two.

Towards the end of the interview, she asked me: "Pharrell, something our readers always want to know is what you think you would have done with your life if you hadn't become a professional footballer?"

I have to admit, the question stumped me. What would have happened to me had I not been born with these extraordinary talents that have got me so far in the sport? I really don't know.

It might surprise you to know that I wasn't really very good at school. Not that I was stupid or dumb or anything, I just didn't really try all that hard. Even at a young age I realised that I had been blessed with an amazing athletic talent and that it would almost certainly make me a millionaire.

I was no good at mathematics; I'm not great with numbers. That's why I pay for an accountant to look after my £25k-a-week. If it were left to me, I would have no end of trouble trying to work out how many days I'd have to save for to buy myself a new car.

History didn't interest me in the slightest, and the only reason I paid any attention in geography was so that I could dream about all the holidays I could take in faraway places once I became rich through playing football.

I can't draw to save my life so I would never have made it as an architect or interior designer, and science lessons went completely over my head.

Neither could I ever get my head around French, Spanish and Italian lessons - although I will admit that being able to speak a foreign language would be beneficial to me now, as a top professional footballer. I'd love to be able to chat up girls in another country.

I suppose that my success with this massively popular blog for ESPN Soccernet shows that I probably would have made my career in journalism or even writing books, had I not made it as a footballer.

It actually makes me shiver to think about how my life might have turned out had I not been as skilful and gifted as I am at sport.

Instead of lounging on my leather sofa in my luxury city-centre flat, writing this blog on a top-of-the-range laptop with my HD plasma TV playing in the background, I might have been sat in some stale office in the middle of an industrial estate, hunched over my desk, filling out HR appraisal forms while some half-wit colleague next to me drones on endlessly about how crap his life is.

Scary. Really scary. Thank god I am Pharrell Bell and I don't have to worry about all that bull.

Another question the journalist girl asked me was whether, if I wasn't a top Premier League star, I would be a football fan. You know, one of you guys.

Would I support a team, would I shell out half my weekly wage to go and watch a game, would I spend my leisure time surfing the internet for the smallest morsel of gossip on my favourite players?

And you know what, in a small way I think I would. I think I would be like you guys. I'd support my local team, through thick and thin. I'd go and watch them when I could, I'd banter about football with my mates over a greasy fry-up at the local cafe just like Ian Wright, Lee Dixon and Ally McCoist in those adverts a little while back.

But I've got to tell you, one thing I just don't get about you guys is when you get in arguments on internet forums.

>>My team is better than your team.

>>No, it's not; my team is better than your team. We beat Fulham and you lost to Fulham so we must be better than you.

>>Ah, but we beat Hull 3-0 and you only beat them 2-1, so that shows we're better than you. And you're an idiot if you say otherwise.

>>You're such a dumbass. When we beat Hull 2-1, we were playing AWAY. You beat them 3-0 AT HOME. You can't compare the two results. If you did, you'd have to accept that ours was better.

>>You're so immature. Shouldn't you be doing your homework? How old are you? Like, TWELVE?!?!! ROTFLMAO!!!

>>I am actually a Professor of Ancient History at the University of Cambridge. SO GO SUCK YOURSELF!

>>If you're so clever, why don't you go and HAVE SEX WITH A MUMMY! ManYoo Rock!

Doesn't it all just seem so lame?

Anyway, you guys will do what you gotta do.

Until next time,

Peace.