Sven Goran Eriksson lifts the lid on clashes with Sir Alex Ferguson

My first job after England was with Manchester City. It turned out to be for just one season, even though we won both of the derby matches against United.

It's an English tradition after a home match to invite the opponents' coach and staff to your office for a cup of tea or a gin and tonic.

During these get togethers, it's also an unwritten rule not to talk about the match you just played, about any referee calls, or whatever is gnawing at you.

When we beat United at home 1-0, Ferguson simply came up, grumpy as hell, said a curt 'Hi!' and left. Then when we beat them again away, 2-1, he sent his assistant, Carlos Queiroz, who had to tell us a fable about Ferguson not having the time to come - he had to catch a flight. It was extremely unusual for a coach not to show up, and really rude. I personally found those moments together extremely pleasant, regardless of how the match had gone.

By Christmas, we were in a very good place in the table, with a team that had been thrown together, with several new players. It was all fine and dandy, and the supporters chanted my name.

The club was owned by the Thai politician and former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra. He paid the salaries, but beyond that he didn't have a clue about what we were up to. After one of the first matches, Hasse Backe, my assistant coach, ran up to me. 'Come here, Svennis, you've got to see something.'

The players were warming down on the pitch. They were running, slowly, and there stood Thaksin and his wife, awaiting the third half of the match. That was his level of football knowledge.

At the start of my time with the club, after a close loss to the top team, Arsenal, he said to me: 'Three matches ago, Sven was good. Two matches ago, Sven was good. One match ago, Sven was good. Today, Sven was terribly bad.'

Hasse understood what a temperamental person we were dealing with. 'This is not going to end well if we don't win every match,' he said.

Manchester City wasn't the same force in the world of football that they are today under the leadership of City Football Group. But I was nevertheless fired after the second half of the season was not quite as good as the first, and we came ninth.

I've always been drawn to challenges. Notts County was precisely that – an appealing challenge. I firmly believed in what now sounds like a long, or short, if you will, cock-and-bull story.

At the Dorchester Hotel in London, I met two blokes, Russell King and Nathan Willett. They worked for the offshore company Munto Finance, a subsidiary of Qadbak Investments, which in turn claimed to be backed by the royal family of Bahrain. In the background was another company, Swiss Commodity Holding, which claimed to have huge financial assets along with rights to all gold, iron ore and coal in North Korea.

The proposition sounded terrific. The plan King presented was for me to come to Notts County, a League Two team, on a five-year contract. My salary would be paid in corporate shares. He explained that their player budget was very large and that the goal was to reach the Premier League within five years, three divisions up. They impressed me with their enthusiasm. They came across as open-hearted, generous, and knowledgeable.

I was sports director and went to work every day. I made two major acquisitions: Kasper Schmeichel and Sol Campbell. We were called the new Galacticos.

Roberto Mancini wanted to come to Notts County as coach and he was promised the same salary as he currently had with Inter. Right in the midst of these negotiations, I was asked to fly to North Korea. That's when the suspicions began. What was going on here?

Mancini was calling me every day, asking us to send him a contract. He even flew to Nottingham. At the same time, Qadbak Investments were trying to purchase BMW in Formula One.

BMW called me and asked: 'Do you think all this is on the level?' 'Well, I am starting to have my doubts,' I replied, honestly. Nobody wanted to make deals with them. Everything was going straight to hell, and the question arose whether they'd ever had any money.

When we flew to North Korea, a large group of other people came at the same time – geologists and mining experts. Russell King told me that I had to go to North Korea in order for him to be able to put together his deal.

I was a member of FIFA's football committee, and North Korea had just qualified for the World Cup. One day when the others went off to look at some mine, I was picked up by a limousine, with a chauffeur and a bodyguard. I was shown around various sports arenas, fine facilities with plenty of marble.

A North Korean official came up to me, and the female interpreter said: 'We need help.' I thought they were going to beg for some football boots and footballs, so I told them that there shouldn't be any problem with that.

'We want to play in an easy group in the World Cup,' the interpreter continued. 'That's what everybody wants,' I replied. I stressed that I may be on the committee, but that I had no influence over the draw. They didn't believe me

'So, you don't want to help us?' 'Wanting to is one thing, but I'm not able to do so,' I said. So, that was why I was there in North Korea, to arrange a good group for North Korea in the 2010 World Cup in South Africa.

Russell King later lived in Bahrain before being extradited to Jersey, where he was sentenced to six years in prison for fraud and larceny. On his trip to North Korea, he used the name 'L. Voldemort', as in Lord Voldemort, the great villain in the Harry Potter books. Very odd gentleman.

When the bubble burst, chairman Peter Trembling and I stood there, both employed by a football club with no money. We didn't have a penny to pay our players' salaries. Nor was there any possibility of providing Notts County players with food. The club hadn't even paid its milk bill.

I worked there for six months. Tord did too. We never saw any money, not a penny for all the work we put in.

When the smoke had cleared, I was regarded as having been tremendously naive to get involved in the goings-on. But Athole Still and I carefully checked everything out, with the assistance of the FA and the EFL, and both came back with the same message: 'Go ahead! The money's there.' I realised there were risks involved in the project, but, as I said, I do like an adventure.

Roman Abramovich was a good owner

There's a lot to be said about Roman Abramovich, but he was a good owner, made sensible decisions, listened to people who knew what they were talking about, and thought about what was best for the club.

I've had quite a lot to do with him. He was about to purchase FC Dynamo Moscow, and at the same time I received an offer to take over as their coach.

Then he changed his mind and purchased Chelsea instead. But first he called me to ask: 'Shall I buy Tottenham or Chelsea?' This was while I was England manager, and I countered with a question of my own: 'What's your objective?'

He explained that he wanted to win, that he would win. 'In that case, you'd better buy Chelsea,' I said.

I have to say that he was a pleasant man, that I like him. He was so far from being overbearing and condescending.

Early in his days as owner of Chelsea, he or his assistant would call regularly. He invited me in for tea, and my chauffeur drove me to his flat in central London. You drove down into a garage and then took a lift up. The press never discovered that - that's how alert the paparazzi photographers were.

I was there at least 10 times, and he wanted advice about a lot of players. Such as Frank Lampard: 'Is he good enough?' Abramovich wondered.

I had a lot of contact with Jose Mourinho during the same period. He had many of my players in Chelsea, including Lampard and John Terry.

In our meetings and when we were in touch, he was completely normal, calm and collected. Once I sent him a message the day before I was to select a roster for a match. I'd heard rumours that Lampard had taken a hit during training.

Mourinho replied: 'Sven, when you pick a national team, those players belong to you. Together with your doctors, you decide if he can play or not. If he can, then I support you and the English national team.' Mourinho was actually the only coach who answered me that way.

Five years with Sampdoria was enough 

After five years with Sampdoria, I felt it was time to move on. I was contacted by the agent Athole Still, who represented the steel magnate Jack Walker, owner of Blackburn Rovers. The club had won the Premier League in 1995, and after two lesser seasons it longed to be back on top. That's where I entered the picture.

I signed with Blackburn Rovers and wanted to have Roberto Mancini as my assistant coach. But Jack Walker thought he was asking for too much money, and both Mancini and I were disappointed.

Then another man with financial resources and great self- confidence contacted me. It was Lazio's Sergio Cragnotti. He, too, wanted to win, wanted his club to climb.

This was a huge opportunity for me, and I managed to tear up the contract with Blackburn, largely because I recommended Roy Hodgson, the man who once had meant so much to me and to Swedish football.

Brazil 2002 raised questions 

The loss to Brazil in the 2002 World Cup quarter-finals spawned the eternal question: 'Why don't England win in major tournaments?'

As team manager, I had to present an analysis. During my time at England, I had a lot to do with Richard Scudamore, the CEO of the Premier League.

I thought, and many others have borne me out, that the main reason England don't attain complete success in the major tournaments is that the players are too tired when the time comes around for championships in the summer, because there's no winter break in English football.

In countries like Italy, Germany, and Spain, they take breaks of varying length over Christmas and New Year's Day. A break would help to make our players healthier and more eager for championship play, everybody agreed. But it made no difference.

'You're absolutely right, Sven,' said Scudamore, 'but I just happen to be the CEO of the Premier League. There's no chance you'll get a break in there. Whether England win or don't win as a result, I don't give a damn. I'm an Englishman, but I represent the Premier League.'

Those were powerful words, but ultimately he had to give in, after I had left as manager. The pressure was too great.

Adapted from A Beautiful Game by Sven-Goran Eriksson (Michael Joseph, £25), published on October 17. © Sven-Goran Eriksson & Bengt Berg, 2024, translation © Donald Macqueen, 2024. To order a copy for £21.25 (offer valid to 19/10/24; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.