Football is a simple game. Twenty-two men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans always win.

I'm not that moody. I don't have big ups and downs.

This is ludicrous. Seven- and eight-year-olds valiantly trying to cover the same acreage as those grown-up chaps in the Premier League is absurd. To add to the lunacy, a little goalkeeper, barely out of nappies, has to stand between posts that are eight strides apart - adult strides - and under a crossbar more than twice his height.

Ferrari or Lamborghini. Never fancied one of those - too flash for me. I don't really like seeking too much attention.

It's true: a lot of sportspeople really struggle to find something to do when they finish. It tips them into all sorts of strange things. With ex-footballers, it's really scary. I think 70% of them get divorced within five years. It's hard. You go from being really famous to not that famous. Your salary drops through the floor.

Not many players would turn down a chance to play for Real Madrid and Barcelona, as they're right at the top the tree in terms of football.

I've known Mark Hughes for half a lifetime. We joined Barcelona in the same summer of 1986, played together under Terry Venables and Luis Aragones, and have kept in touch ever since.

What you learn is that you can't please everyone all the time.

I think if I'd ever had any skeletons in the closet, they'd have been out a long time ago.