diary cristiano roneldo

Even though I am having a little me time for once, I have still been reading the British newspapers. All the journalists say the same thing: "So long, Cristiano, even though we never really loved your selfish, cheating ways." I throw my head back and laugh, thinking of these unkempt old men. What they say is almost unimaginably painful to me. But I am lying by an infinity pool in the Hollywood Hills and Paris Hilton is giving me a pedicure, so I expect I will get on with my day as best I can.
But the bereaved British cannot be surprised. I never promise anything more than I can give. It is like when I date a girl, and she tells me she wants diamond earrings. I know the type of thing she is after. But I give her diamond earrings in the shape of CR7, my shirt number. This gesture ensures we understand each other.
For now, I simply enjoy my victory. Not that I am the only winner. I am pleased for Real Madrid, that they finally get what they desire so much. And, of course, I understand that my move is historic. Historic not simply for the money - which is agreeable - but genuinely historic. Certainly the most important thing to happen to Portugal since the Age of Discovery.
People say to me: do you really think you can turn Portugal into an imperial power again, using simply your unparalleled skill and metrosexual charm? I say, of course, but please don't call me metrosexual. I am soccersexual. For Cristiano Ronaldo, the neologisms must all be reinvented.