When I was a kid, all our seaside holidays were spent on Canvey Island or in Clacton-on-Sea.

On the night of June 30, 1990, a minibus in which I was travelling was involved in a head-on collision on a road near Latina, in the region of Lazio, near Rome.

Despite all that has happened in his career since, one of the biggest regrets of my life in management is not taking Luis Suarez to Tottenham when we had the chance.

Scholes was playing tiki-taka football when nobody in England knew what it was. He was another of those players, like Denis Law or Bobby Moore, who at 15 probably looked as if he wouldn't make it.

Losing produces a weird reaction in me. I surrender all sense of perspective. It's ridiculous, really. All this over a football match.

After my heart operation, I was given tablets, but, I'll admit, half the time I forget to take them. I carry them around in the car. Little triangular things - I don't know what they are, to be honest.

Whatever faults I may have, I do know a player.

There is some right old rubbish talked about Gareth Bale's time with me at Tottenham. Was I ever going to sell Bale? No. Was I going to loan him? No.

I was fortunate to spend the Sixties working for one of the greatest football minds this country has ever produced: Ron Greenwood.

I remember the terrible winter in 1963, clearing the snow off the forecourt at Upton Park with the rest of the players so we could train. Job done, we'd play on it for two hours in silly little plimsolls, sliding everywhere.

Lionel Messi reminds me of George Best, the way he would run with the ball tight to his foot.

No one is more of a fan of the game than me: my son is a player.

The fans pay good money to watch their team, so they are entitled to their opinion.

I've been around a long time. I've seen it all before.

I don't live my life feeling bitter about anything. I've been so lucky. I've had such a great life.

People think I'm all calm, but underneath I'm not.

I am a worrier.

Down at Bournemouth, I kicked a tray of cups up into air, and one hit Luther Blissett on the head. He flicked it on, and it went all over my suit hanging behind. Another time, at West Ham, I also threw a plate of sandwiches at Don Hutchison. He's sitting there, still arguing with me, with cheese and tomato running down his face.

I just thought Spurs were a challenge that I had to take on.

I feed foxes. I'm not supposed to, but I love it.

If you buy too many bad players, you don't last in this game.

I do wonder how managers like Brian Clough and Bill Shankly would cope. How would Cloughie deal with players taking five pairs of different colour boots to a game?

I'm useless around the house.

I could write a book - if I could write, ha ha - about how many times I've been ripped off lending money to people. I'm an absolutely unbelievable soft touch. Unbelievable. I never learn my lesson.