We’re all going to be part of what will happen here: I’ve been transferred to a new club and new country but it’s the family who are moving to Spain. I wanted us together to see what we were letting ourselves in for. And, to be honest, I needed the support. The excitement and tension had been building up for nearly a month ahead of these two days in Spain. I knew from the moment we touched down at half past one on Tuesday afternoon that every minute was going to matter. Having my family with me meant that Madrid – the city and Real – would get the right first impression of me: a soccer player who’s a husband and father. Romeo, still only nine months old, stayed in England with Vic- toria’s parents, but I had Victoria with me, Brooklyn too. And my mum, who’d agreed to the job of finding some fun for a four-year-old when he got fed up with what Mummy and Daddy were doing.

Nervous? I needn’t have been. Whatever doubts and worries I’d brought with me were blown away within a minute or two of climbing
into the car that Real Madrid sent to collect us. Six motorcycle policemen surrounded us. Fine: a few blue lights and sirens always make Brooklyn’s day. And then we nosed out onto the highway. It was like a scene out of The French Connection: we barreled down the outside lane, then across into the inside lane, then back outside again. Other traffic was left to fend for itself. The paparazzi kept up as best, and as dangerously, as they could, in their cars and on their motorbikes. The schedule had my first stop as the hospital where I was due to have my medical. If we did crash, at least I was headed towards the right place. It wasn’t until much later in the day that I realized it wasn’t just the police and the press: everybody in Madrid drives like they’re chasing pole position for the Spanish Grand Prix.

When I’d first spoken to Real, I’d thought it was only fair to let them know I was a bit uncertain about the idea of moving to another country with my wife and my children. Would I feel settled enough to be single minded about my soccer? I knew I’d have to be if I was going to make a success of a career with the club. I could hardly believe how understanding they were. None of my concerns came as a surprise to them, probably because in Spain family life is really important to everyone.

‘Your family must be as happy here with us as you are, David.’

They took it for granted that they’d try to help us feel at home. Victoria and Brooklyn and Mum were whisked away to look at some properties that Real’s people thought we might be interested in. I wished I could have gone with them but I knew there’d be time for me to join in with the house hunting later. While they headed off to the suburbs, I had an appointment at La Zarzuela Hospital with Real’s club doctor, Senor Corral.