I’m happy to be back in London.

England has felt like home to me ever since I made the trip to Stamford Bridge to sign for Chelsea in ’99. The weather still comes as a cold, gloomy shock to my system though – and that’s coming from a man who was born in (not so) sunny Amsterdam.

But it’s nothing a Nandos can’t fix. That place is so addictive I could eat it every day. After touching down in Heathrow and devouring a chicken, I headed to meet some cool artists with a friend. We were going to get a black cab but the traffic was typically chaotic so I suggested we catch the underground.

“Are you bloody joking?”

That beautiful English accent. I was serious.

Navigating the underground was more dizzying than trying to mark Ronaldo and Messi – I had no grasp of direction much to the amusement of my friend who kept sending me the wrong way. But I soon saw the similarities to the Amsterdam Underground and walked around like I had Leo and Cristiano in my back pocket (as I imagine would be the case if I got the boots out – Mourinho?).

On our way back we came across a really drunk Irish guy who had missed his stop on the train. I’m sure that’s something you will have all seen before; public transport and alcohol are a cocktail for calamity. My friend went over to see if he was okay and snapped him back into life.

“Jesus is black and Irish!” he garbled, hugging us, almost falling over.

The things people come out with under alcohol’s influence. So moving, so poetic.

He topped things off by insisting he was going to spend the evening with us. We appreciate the gesture my friend but no, you’re not. Thankfully a security guard escorted him off the train before he could follow us back to the hotel, and we can only speculate where he might have ended up that evening.

Some say he is still trying to find his way home.