So, obviously you all can't fail to have noticed that there have been no blogs from the P-Bell recently. I know that it must have been frustrating to you, what with you lot idolising me and me being all quiet and you not knowing really what was going on.

I guess there have probably been loads of rumours and gossip going round about why I've not been blogging. The internet has probably been buzzing with stories and guesswork about why I'd disappeared and where I'd gone and why no-one had seen or heard from me.

Obviously, me not playing in the first-team for the last few weeks has not helped the situation either. When such a massive and important player is left out of the squad by the manager for so many big matches on the trot, I guess you guys were all thinking that there must be a pretty good reason for it, right?

Well, there was – and it's not really been my fault. To tell you the truth, I would have been perfectly happy to continue playing and carrying on as normal, but the advice from my lawyers was that I should get my head down for a few weeks until the storm has blown over.

Thankfully, the storm has passed and I can now pick up where I left off. Annoyingly though, I have still been warned by my legal team not to say too much about the allegations that you read in the newspapers a few weeks ago.

I am so desperate to put the record straight and to tell my side of the story, because a lot of what's been said is actually total nonsense.

But my agent and lawyers insist that I should keep my mouth shut. Apparently, if I say too much now then it would just make the situation a whole lot worse.

And you know, I pay these legal geeks a lot of money for their advice, so I suppose I should really listen to what they say and follow their instructions.

But it really is so frustrating to not be able to say my piece and to have to sit here and just take all the flak and b******t that is flying around and not respond in any way. You know, it feels like I have been castrated.

It feels like someone has cut my balls off, it really does. I think I understand how that feels now. I mean, what sort of MAN sits back and lets people say these things without standing up for himself and fighting back?

These legal geeks are treating me like a DOG. Wrongly accused of stealing a cheap joint of beef from the kitchen worktop, kicking me out into the cold and the rain, hurling abuse at me while they feed me mouldy scraps of leftover food – all for something I didn't even do.

Well, I don't need to tell you guys, my loyal readers, that the great P-Bell is no mangey mongrel. I ask myself, what did the A-Team do when they were accused of a crime they didn't commit?

Did B.A. Baracus consult his lawyers and agree to a vow of silence while Colonel Decker spread scandalous lies in the daily newspapers? Did Murdoch sit in uncomplaining silence in that maximum security stockade, reading self-help books to help pass the time?
SHUT UP, FOOL! They bust their way out of there and went underground, opening some huge can of whoop-ass and justice on which ever poor suckers got in their way – and that's exactly what P-Bell has decided he should do.

So this week, when my lawyers instructed me to take a holiday for a while to somewhere far away while this thing blows over, what do you think I told them? I said, No. No way. I ain't going on no plane.

So here we go. I'm going to set the record straight. First of all, I'll hold my hands up and admit that I did some things wrong, some things that I'm not proud of.

Yes, we did sleep together. When you read in the newspapers that we had one very drunken night together, I admit that it is truth.

What some people don't realise is that us footballers have a lot more testosterone than normal people, so it is impossible for you to judge us in the same light. When you have got so many hormones throbbing through your veins, sometimes the caveman in you takes over.

So yes, I admit that we did spend that night together in the hotel room – although I am far from proud of it and there are definitely a couple of things I want to set you straight on.

If you read that I knew what I was doing that night, then frankly, it is just not true. At the time, I had no idea who they were – and obviously, if I did, I never would have done it.

First of all, it was very, very dark in the nightclub when we met. And I was very, very drunk. And another thing, the music was very loud, so the tone of voice was impossible for me to pick up. All I heard was "My name is Marilyn and I want you”, and that was basically enough for me.

I can't even remember the exact details of what happened that night, so what you read in the newspapers might actually be true. Some of it sounds strange, and not the sort of stuff I'd usually get up to, but I can have no complaints.

The next morning, I awoke to an empty bed. In fact, it wasn't until a few days later when I realised the full horror of what I'd done and it dawned on me who Marilyn was.

I'd got a few of the lads round after training. We were just dossing around, flicking through the channels on the TV when we happened across an old episode of Saved by the Bell and one of the lads piped up with a little-known fact.

I can't describe the feeling. Thankfully I managed to hold it together until they'd gone home – but I guess the secret is out now anyway.

So, I want to emphasise again – I had no idea, and I never would have gone there if I did. Obviously. Everyone has done things they regret. This is mine. I just hope we can all move on and act like grown-ups.

I'd like this to be the end of the matter. I hope to God it is. I'm glad I got it all off my chest. I guess the lawyers will be climbing the walls – but at least B.A will be happy.