Hi readers,

I just want to start by thanking all those people who have been in touch over the last week or so to offer me support in what has been a difficult time for me. But as I said in my last entry, I want to use what has happened to my advantage.

The New Year has brought a fresh start for Pharrell Bell. I want my place in the first-team back, and I am training harder than I have ever trained before to make sure it happens. Even the snow hasn't held me back.

Several of my team-mates have phoned in claiming they couldn't make it in to training because they were snowed in or that they couldn't get their cars out of their drive.

The old Pharrell Bell probably would have joined them in using the snow as an excuse to take a sneaky day-off from training. Hell, the old PB would probably have gone out and bought a £30,000 snowmobile and spent the day skidding across the frosted fairways of his local golf club with a chick in the passenger seat completely inappropriately dressed for the weather conditions.

But that was then and this is now. Things have changed. Besides, it's difficult to claim you're snowed in when the gaffer knows you live on the 18th floor of a block of exclusive apartments in the city.

Anyway, while my mates have been slacking off, sitting around their houses playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, Pharrell Bell has been training like an animal.

I have been getting into training HQ an hour early for a warm-up swim, taking part in normal sessions with the rest of the lads, before hitting the gym for a couple of hours while the rest of the squad slink off to the cosy warmth of their living rooms.

You wouldn't believe the difference in me. I've gone a bit mental. I am just so desperate for some competitive football now, it's been much, much too long since I've really been able to get stuck into a proper match.

I mean, guys, I am champing at the bit. I was so pumped for some football, the other night I just drove the 4x4 down to my local sports field and asked a bunch of lads if I could join in their game of eight-a-side.

I could tell it was a bit of a shock for them, having a top Premier League footballer ask to join in their little kickabout. They were pretty much starstruck, that much was obvious, and who could blame them?

But I just told them to pretend that I was simply another one of their mates, not to give me too much respect or shy away from me because I am a big star - just treat me as a regular guy, get stuck in and I would do the same.

And BOOM! did I get stuck in! I mean, I was feeling pretty good out there. It really felt like I was hitting some form again, I just felt like I was in the zone. I just blocked out all the distractions and got on with what I do best.

Needless to say, my side won the match. We actually destroyed that other bunch of toss-pots 12-3. I'm glad we really stuffed them actually, because they were really sore losers and it felt good to put them in their place.

I mean, we truly did humiliate them. I took great pleasure in rubbing their faces in the dirt. And when I say I rubbed their face in the dirt, I mean I literally did rub one of their faces in the dirt.

Their left-winger, a whining, scrawny little be-atch. He was lay on the ground holding his calf after I had gone through the back of him (I got the ball), he cried something about it "not being fair" – so I pushed his face down into the turf and told him to grow a pair of bollocks.

It did cause a bit of a kerfuffle, I admit. A few of their lads actually picked up their jumpers and schoolbags and ran home. But honestly, I'm not used to playing on public playing fields - how was I to know that the field was littered with dog-crap?

Anyway, we won the match and that's all that matters. I had forgotten how the adrenalin gets pumping when you are really into a game. I was pumped at the end of it all. The testosterone was flying. I haven't felt like that much of a man in months.

I hope the gaffer is taking notice of how much effort and commitment I am putting into this comeback of mine. I am throwing myself into it, going the whole hog. I have even given up sex for a while to really make sure I am on my toes.

These are the sacrifices you have to make to be a top Premier League footballer. I've always known it, I just allowed myself to be distracted and lose sight of why I wanted to be a professional in the first place.

But not any more. I am bursting with pride and energy and passion and a lot of other stuff. I won't allow myself to be sidetracked again.

Until next week,

PB