Diary of...Jose Mourinho

Another instalment of the 'Diary of...' series, this time featuring easy target of the moment Jose Mourinho. Usual rules apply - this is intended as a yarn, not to offend, and it's all purely fictional aside from certain scorelines and media items. Enjoy!

2nd August - Playing Arsenal in the Community Shield. I couldn't give a monkey's about this worthless piece of tin, and can't wait for my boys to plough half a dozen past that failure specialist Wenger's team. Cue kick-off, and my team couldn't hit a barn door. My cast-off of a keeper shuts us out, and after the game I want to shake Wenger's hand about as much as I want to go apple bobbing in a bucket of bleach. Suddenly ten meg for Cech looks like a steal. Should have worked a 'skull-cosy sold separately' clause in there.

8th August - Swansea at home. The word 'doddle' springs to mind. Double figures and a clean sheet, methinks.

Methinks wrong. We drop two points like they're too heavy to carry and our new Number One is sent off, giving up his place to Asmat Bagatov (or is that the guy from Borat?) and Diego Costa needs a map to find the net. Never figured we'd be playing against an actual team that gave a damn. Still, I deftly deflected blame onto that doctor. Too much bad publicity generated though. Never pick on a hottie.

16th August - OK, so things haven't started well, but I'll turn them around. After all, I'm Mr Suave. The fans love me and Roman hired me twice. I'm bulletproof. And I'll never have Wenger's mockable win record.

We are systematically dismantled at the Etihad. I drag Terry off at half time and it's the furthest he moves all game. Can't fault Asmat Bagatov for the loss but still Petr must be chuckling underneath his padded hat. The fans are starting to look daggers at me. Every time Roman offers me tea I wonder if he's going to add one lump of polonium or two. I can practically feel bullets from every angle. And I'd give my left nut for Wenger's win record this season.

28th August - Squad needs an overhaul like Adrian Chiles needs a sock in the mouth. I decide to start with the defence and use a points based system based on simple questions. Is player as old as the hills? Does player have the mobility of an ocean liner? Is player as overpaid and underachieving as a bank executive? Deduct points if yes. Add points if player's name would score heavily in a game of Scrabble.

Zouma, Cahill and Ivanovic are safe. Terry is one false move away from the glue factory. Azpiliwhateverthehellhisnameis is my vote for club captain.

19th September - Solace at last! A win against Le Prof. Sure, we had a two man advantage and one count of assault with an incredibly limp pair of hands from Diego, but a win's a win. After being shattered by Glass Hovel, sorry, Crystal Palace, and being chewed up by the Toffees, we needed this. Wenger can't look down his nose at me now...even if he can still look down the league table at me. Drat!

3rd October - That's it. I've had it. I've officially lost my marbles. First my former team Porto beat us in Europe and now Ronald Koeman and his boys in their candy cane outfits have royally boned us. I blame the referee. I blame Terry. I blame the referee for the fact that I selected Terry. I blame Eva Carneiro and her she-devil distracting charm. I blame Hazard and the fake head injury that brought the Eva situation about. Basically, I blame everybody but me...and everybody but me blames me. We're at loggerheads.

I bring the weekend to a close by locking myself in a lonely room with a bottle of vodka and a loaded pistol. This isn't what it sounds like. When the authorities break down the door telling me I have 'every reason to live,' they find me drunkenly taking potshots at a poster of my own squad, a la Elvis and his televisions. Unsurprisingly, my strikers aren't the only ones who can't hit the target.