Maicon out for Bale revenge & Hazard considers Real Madrid move: The Premier League newcomers' diaries

As the top flight's freshest faces get used to their new surroundings and adjust to life in England, imagines what might be scribbled in each of their journals

This Premier League lark seems easy enough – you just stand near the goal and they’ll let you head it in – but it’s the off-pitch stuff that has me a little disturbed. Fans keep coming up to me and trying to stroke my stubble. “Oh, Javi,” they swoon, “you’re just like Fernando Torres, only male.” I wish they’d stop.


Wow. The supporters here in England are really great! All I have to do is make the most basic of saves, not drop it, and suddenly there is rapturous applause! Everyone at the club seems so happy to see me, as well. There’s such a great atmosphere in the dressing room – except for that one guy. I never see his face; whenever I turn towards him he just buries his head in his hands and sobs, spluttering something that sounds like “England’s No.1”. I wonder who he is.


It was a tough decision to turn down the likes of Liverpool and Tottenham but, sitting on my gold-plated throne in a Southampton mansion, I’m pretty sure it was the right one. Jay Rodriguez and Jason Puncheon are taking turns washing my car. Nigel Adkins denies kissing my boots but he looked awkwardly at the floor when I asked him about it. This is brilliant!


Everything is going to plan; I have successfully trolled every single English TV commentator by forcing them to try pronouncing my name. As a side project, I’ve taken up roasting English defenders and winning penalties. It’s a hobby in which they are only too happy to indulge me. That said, it has been a long time now since I agitated for a transfer. Football just isn’t as much fun. Real Madrid are struggling, maybe I’ll give Jose a call…


I AM THE KING OF EVERYTHING! Cower before me, defenders, as my righteous boot sweeps you all from my path! Finally, I am at a world-class club who can give me the service I need to score against everyone. Funny thing, though: I could have sworn that Barcelona played in red and blue. And it’s much windier here than I thought it would be. Ah, well. Mes que un club!


It’s nice to see that people in this country give me the respect I deserve. When I first walked into the Loftus Road dressing room, stretched out my hand and said: “Hi, I’m Stephane Mbia. I’m the replacement for Joey Barton,” my team-mates recoiled in primal fear. Excellent. They must have heard about what a powerful player I am.


Look, let’s not make a big deal of this, but it is just a little bit galling that Robin van Persie is getting all the attention. Oh, yes, he scores loads of goals. WHOOP-DE-DOO. I was the Bundesliga Player of the Year last season. Was Van Persie? No. Sure, he got a hat-trick against Southampton but he missed a penalty! Did I? No. And when is everyone going to get over Paul Scholes? Have you seen me pass? HELLO!


What is going on? I finally escape from the financial nightmare at Rangers, only to find myself playing for a team wearing blue alongside Nikica Jelavic, working for a Scottish manager? Have I been caught in some sort of science-fiction time loop? Am I doomed to relive the monetary meltdown of the past 12 months over and over again forever? Will I ever get paid again? Steven Davis has grown one hell of an afro, though…


The day of reckoning is nearly at hand. With my glory days behind me, there’s no need to try against small fry like Real Madrid. For now, I stay fit, conserve my energy and wait. November 10. Home against Tottenham. I am coming for you, Gareth Bale. You destroyed my career. Now I will end you. My mission will soon be complete. I will make you rue the day that you ever set foot on the same pitch as Maicon Douglas Sisenando.