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

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.