On the apprenticeship at Portsmouth we had quite a gruelling daily schedule, but as far as I was concerned, I was living the life of Riley.

      We started our day at 9am every morning doing our apprenticeship jobs. When the first team turned up an hour later, we would all start training. In those days, apprentices really earned their keep. We scrubbed the toilets, we painted the terraces, we cleaned the boots of the first team members, and we took pride in our work. No one ever complained; it was an honour to be there. I can’t imagine asking a 16 year-old member of a Premiership youth team to go and scrub the toilets these days.

      It was exciting to be away from home, I’d been itching to leave and get out into the world, to explore a bit, and be myself. I suddenly felt like an adult; at home I’d always been a kid. Even so, I was very homesick and called home whenever I could. I would often sneak up to the press box when no one was around and use the phones in there. I’d call mum and dad, and my friends. I would never admit how much I missed my parents, but I’m sure mum could hear it in my voice. No one could actually admit to being homesick, but I have no doubt all the other young lads were feeling it too.

      Luckily I was never away from home for too long because I went back every weekend. On Saturday dad would drive down and watch me in the morning’s youth team game and then we’d drive home. If the first team were playing a home game, we’d stay and watch that and drive home after.

      I was always itching to go out with my mates as soon as I got home. My parents would be dying to hear all my news about how I was getting on and how training was going, but all I wanted to do was get out of the house as fast as possible and meet everyone in town. Looking back, I feel quite bad that I didn’t spend more time with them, especially now I have kids of my own and know how it feels to wish you could share every single moment of their lives. I’m sure all teenagers are the same though; I’d get in, bolt down my dinner, answer questions as quickly and briefly as possible, and then get ready to go out.

      Getting ready was a process in itself. It was the big summer of 1984 and everyone had to look the part. Every girl had to dress like Madonna and every boy like George Michael. Madonna was Like a Virgin, Laura Branigan had no Self Control; we heard 99 Red Balloons, Time After Time, and Billy Ocean and Lionel Richie battled it out in the Top 10. If the Duran Duran Wild Boys got out of hand, who were you gonna call? Ghostbusters. I had my Simon Le Bon highlights and my Footloose moves. I had money in my pocket and was on my way to becoming a huge football star – as far as I was concerned, I was going to play for England one day. Life was great.

      The gaffer (as football managers are called by players) instilled in us his philosophy of “you work hard so you can play hard.” While there was definitely a bit of a laddish culture – of going out, drinking and chatting up women – it was never done at the expense of training and playing our best.

      Alan also taught us the great value of preparation. To this day, I can’t do anything unless I’m totally prepared. I have to complete my research and be satisfied I’ve practised hard enough, that everything is ready and in its place, or I can’t do my job – whatever it may be.

      An essential part of pre-game preparation for a footballer is to have clean boots. You can’t start a game with old, hard mud caked on to your studs. As apprentices at PFC, we were all assigned pros and told we were responsible for keeping their boots clean. My pros were Mick Kennedy and Mick Tait. I made sure their boots were spotless every day. I was also in charge of cleaning the changing rooms of the away teams on a Saturday afternoon, which led to my next exciting encounter with a football legend.

      It happened after a home game against Nottingham Forest. We’d beaten them and most of them had already sloped off, heads hung low, back to their coach. I went down to clean up their changing room before I headed home. It was cold, so I had my coat on, also ready for a quick getaway. I wasn’t cutting any corners though; that dressing room had to be spotless.

      As I entered, mop and bucket in hand, I saw there were still two men sitting over in the corner. I soon recognised them as Brian Clough and Des Walker (the future England defender); they were having a post-match chat. Brian Clough was already something of a legend by then; well on his way to becoming known as “the greatest manager England never had.” I started mopping the floor.

      After a couple of minutes, Brian Clough called over to me in his familiar Middlesbrough accent, “Hey, young man, young man,” he said. “You take your coat off while you’re doing the cleaning. Your mum and dad won’t appreciate it if you get it dirty. They spent a lot of money on that coat.” I can remember that moment like it was yesterday. But there was an even bigger moment about to happen.

      England youth team

      One afternoon, Alan Ball asked all the players to assemble in our home team changing room for a meeting. We didn’t know what it was for and we were sure someone had got into trouble. So when he asked me to come out to the front and stand beside him, I was terrified. I saw he had a letter in his hand and I thought maybe some local girl’s mum had written to say I’d been out with her daughter and I was never to go near her again.

      He gave me the letter and asked me to read it out. As soon as I saw the three lions on the headed paper, my heart lifted. It was from the FA. I started reading and soon I was saying the words, “...pleased to announce that Lee Sandford has been selected to play for the England Youth team.” The clapping and cheering from my teammates rang in my ears for days.

      The first game I played for the England youth team was against the Republic of Ireland in 1986. It was due to be played at Hillsborough, Sheffield Wednesday’s home ground, where we did a few training sessions. At the last moment, due to heavy snow in Sheffield, the game was moved to Leeds, to Elland Road. Mum and dad were obviously incredibly proud and determined to come and watch me. They drove all the way from Basingstoke to Leeds. I think it was the furthest dad had ever driven.

      Standing on the pitch before kick-off, singing the national anthem, I thought I was dreaming. This was the moment I’d watched so many times on TV, in every cup final, with all the players lined up singing God Save The Queen. Now I was doing it, with my parents watching me from somewhere in the stands. I could have burst with pride.

      I was in a team with players who went on to be some of the greatest footballers of my generation. I remember Paul Ince was there, as was Neil “Razor” Ruddock. We won 2-0 and there were huge celebrations on the coach after the match, and back at the hotel, well into the night. Mum and dad were there to enjoy it as well. It was a momentous occasion.

      The next game was a month or so later and was against Scotland, played in Aberdeen. Then we started the preparations for our forthcoming tour to China. I was over the moon when I got picked to be in the squad going to China. I remember having to go and get my visa stamped in my passport, and being measured up for my suit. And then something happened.

      I don’t remember exactly who left, who took over, or what the issues were, but there was a change of management and the new manager wanted to pick a slightly different squad. This time I wasn’t selected. I was absolutely devastated, but there was nothing I could do about it.

      Looking back now, I can see how it was my first experience of being a pawn in someone else’s agenda. Whoever the new manager was, he wanted to make his own selection of players, to put his own stamp on the squad, so I, along with several others, got dropped.

      It was a sobering experience, but it taught me how ephemeral professional success can be. It showed me that there are no guarantees in life. It was also my first lesson in letting go of control, in understanding that you cannot always be in charge of what happens to you. Little did I know then that I would use that lesson when it came to accepting the way money markets work; that I would use the story to show people how they have been pawns in the game played by big