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introduce you. She hosts the Chinese equivalent of Match of the Day . Our version of Gabby Logan, yes?’
    I nodded, not quite sure if Gabby Logan had anything to do with MOTD any more but it hardly seemed relevant right now to question this.
    I was on my way down to the Gemini room when Tempest O’Brien rang me on my mobile.
    ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning,’ she said.
    ‘There’s not much reception here,’ I said. ‘At least not on my phone. I hope you’re ringing me to say that the money is now in my account.’
    ‘No. It’s not. I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not like Mr Jia hasn’t got the money, either. Everyone I know in the business world says the same thing: that he’s a billionaire several times over. But there’s another problem, too. I had a phone call from a friend of mine who lives in Beijing. According to him you told a newspaper that Chinese referees are all crooked and don’t know their offsides from their elbows.’
    ‘Of course I didn’t. Why would I do that? Especially now. Even if it was true.’
    ‘The Chinese Football Association is pretty pissed off about it.’
    ‘If I’d said it, I wouldn’t blame them. But I didn’t. Look, I’ll have to call you back. I’m about to go into a press conference. I’ll call you when it’s over.’
    Dong led me to a room at the back of Gemini where several Chinese men and one very glamorous television presenter were awaiting my arrival. The men were wearing Xuhui tracksuits and were, it seemed, part of the coaching staff, although it was rather hard to tell since none of them spoke English. All of them were smoking. We all bowed to each other politely, shook hands, exchanged business cards, and one of the men handed me a tracksuit top with the club crest on the chest and I put it on. Then we went into the conference room where we took our seats behind a long table in front of almost a hundred newsmen and women. The room was decked out in Shanghai Xuhui’s copycat Barcelona colours which did nothing to restore my faith in these proceedings: I was beginning to regret my decision to work for a football team that looked very like the equivalent of a fake Rolex.
    Even as Yuan Ming started to speak, my mind was in a state of turmoil about what to do. I might have overlooked almost everything – the casual racism, the mistake with my hotel room, the request for a medical examination, the absence of the club’s proprietor at the press conference announcing my appointment – if the money had been paid into my account as had been agreed. That really rankled with me, especially after all Jia’s remarks about the importance of money in the modern game. And finally I could stand it no longer. I interrupted Yuan Ming and announced that I’d changed my mind – that I wouldn’t be joining Shanghai Xuhui after all. I spent a few minutes giving my reasons, after which the press conference broke up in some disarray and, ignoring the many questions that were being fired at me, I quickly made my exit. It all looked like that stupid commercial for Chanel Bleu when the prat with the nose says, ‘I’m not going to be the person I’m expected to be any more’ – or some such bollocks – and one of the girls in the audience swoons at this show of Gallic individuality.
    I kept on thinking that Brian Clough had lasted forty-four days at Leeds United; I hadn’t even lasted forty-four minutes.
    I returned to my room where I sent an email to Tempest telling her what I’d done and spent the next half an hour booking a return flight to London. Then I poured myself a drink, drank it and lay down on the bed and told myself that this nightmare would soon be over. Maybe I’d be able to laugh it off when I was back in London but right now I couldn’t have felt more depressed.

5
    There was a knock at the door of my hotel room. I opened my eyes and stared out of the window at my Standard Room view. It wasn’t much different from the view