It's been quite a week for The Neviller - sex actions in front of the diiiiirty diiiiirty Scousers, the revelation that Sven is on his way and watching Dancing On Ice with mum. Next week he'll answer your problems...
If I ever kiss a girl (eurrrggh) and become a daddy then I shall call my son (or daughter) after the best person ever, ever, ever. He (or she) will be Sir Neville. I told dad and he was upset so maybe I'll have to call him (or her) Sir Neville Neville. I wonder if they will inherit my bushy moustache.
Phil B***ardsley (ha ha) thinks he can play the most important position on the pitch for the best team ever after last night against Burton. But what he forgot until I told him today in the car park and then during training and then at lunch and then on the phone later was that he was really, really rubbish until I came on and turned the game when we were winning just 3-0 and struggling without me.
I'll tell Sir to send him to Preston.
Sir shouted at me for not giving Phil a bib this morning. He says we need TWO right-backs - this is the worstest thing he's said to me since he told me to 'f*** off out of his garden'.
Went to the pictures because Rio said I'd really, really like Brokeback Mountain and would identify with the main characters. I thought he said Rightback Mountain and it would be about handsome right-backs with fantastic facial hair. It wasn't. I cried.
Silly Billy Philly and his little Neverton team beat Arse-nal so I've promised mum not to give him a Chinese burn for at least 24 hours. I tried to appeal the suspension but she was quicker than usual up the stairs.
We watched Dancing On Ice. I could do that when I'm 44 and retire, just before I take over as manager of the best club in the world ever and win the Historic Quadruple and become Lord Sir Gary Neville OBE MBE CBeebies.
Diiiiirty diiiiirty Scousers, diiiiirty diiiiirty Scousers. We won, we won, we won, you lost, you lost, you lost. And I did the coolest celebration in front of the diiiiirty, diiiirty Scousers that some people said was like when a boy and a girl do sex, which probably means that girls will think I want to do sex with them, when everyone knows that girls smell. I did do a sex wee though.
Did my celebration for mum and grandma today after Sunday lunch (sprouts, euugghh) and they said I'll look handsome in the papers. Hope the camera captures my moustache, because sometimes in pictures it doesn't look as bushy as in real life.
Too excited to sleep so I'm reading Sir's book again. I know it nearly off by heart now, which is lucky because some of the pages don't open anymore.
I have been hidden in my mum's cupboard all day after Rio texted me to say that the police wanted to talk to me about 'exciting the crowd'. I don't want to go to jail because Rio says a handsome boy like me would be popular in the showers. And I prefer baths.
When mum tempted me out with a bowl of Frosties (she says I'm grrrrrrreat) I heard that Sven is leaving after the World Cup, probably because I phoned Brian Barwick to say there were too many Scousers in the team. They say it's not but I know different, because his secretary said he was 'interested to learn my views'.
I think I am the right man to replace him. If I'm not in jail.
Who's Sam Allardyce? Apparently he manages a club in Lancashire, but everyone knows there's only one club in Lancashire. I'm confused! He can't be allowed to manage England and neither can 'Big Phil' Scolari - a) because he's called Phil and everyone knows that's a silly name and b) because he probably thinks his moustache is better than mine. Which it's not.
It should be me and David in a dream team. Like that film I saw the other night.
We're in the final of the most important cup competition in the world (that I haven't won yet) after beating some little team called, I think, Blackburn. I was brilliant of course, though Edwin (I always preferred Sweary Tim) tried to make me look silly by not reacting quick enough to my perfect backpass.
That nasty man Robbie Savage tried to make trouble in the tunnel but, as I'm the captain now, I couldn't sort him out properly. I had to lock myself in the changing-room, because a captain can't get into any trouble. And I had to wait until I was sure he'd left the ground, because I'm the captain now. Roy would have done the same.
I've been charged. I'm running away to Malta.
The Neviller will be taking a break from his diaries next week to answer your problems. So write to Uncle Gary at firstname.lastname@example.org, putting 'Dear Gary' in the subject field. He'll do his best to solve your dilemmas on all matters of the heart and more...