"I had no complaints about his body: he had a fantastic six-pack, gorgeous muscular legs . . . but the chemistry between us wasn’t that strong. Our relationship was superficial. I was used to getting totally involved in my boyfriends’ lives, meeting their family and friends and really getting to know them. Dwight wasn’t like that at all. I just couldn’t get close to him." — Katie Price, Being Jordan

Dwight Yorke likes to score; close his book and the conclusion is undeniable. He has scored in the back of a Glasgow taxi, on the banks of the Manchester canal, a hat-trick in just 90 minutes once in Barcelona and four times in 24 hours during his time at Aston Villa. Wham bam thank you ma’am . . . And you ma’am . . . And you ma’am . . . And you.

He has done other stuff as well — cricket with Brian Lara, golf with Seve Ballesteros, a World Cup with Trinidad and Tobago, a League Cup with Villa, a treble with Manchester United — but it’s that old James Brown in him that keeps you turning the pages: “Get up, get on up. Get up, get on up. Stay on the scene, like a sex machine.”

We meet at his favourite hotel in London. He’s wearing a white baseball cap, some impressive bling and a shirt at least two sizes too small for him. Like Jordan, I have no complaints about his body: he has fantastic pecs, clearly muscular legs but I just couldn’t get close to him. Every time I reminded him of something he said in his book he seemed to back away.

The depiction of his father as an abusive, skirt-chasing, wife-beater? It was the nature of Tobagonian culture. The suggestion that his dalliance with Jordan was all about the headlines? He is appalled. And his assessment of Roy Keane’s failings at Sunderland have been misconstrued. “Roy Keane will make an exceptional manager,” he insists, but just not at club level.

Yorke, who is 37, is affable and clearly no fool but surprisingly guarded for a man with a penchant for al fresco love. He won’t do the interview without his personal assistant and repels any attempt to delve beneath his choirboy smile. Maybe there’s nothing there, but I’m not sure.

He clearly has commitment issues — and not just to his opinions. When his son Harvey was born he ran from the delivery room and created more headlines than anything he had achieved in his football career. But it is the birth of his second son, Orlando, that truly fascinates . . .

“I was listening to an interview you gave to Talksport yesterday and you mentioned you had seen Sir Alex Ferguson two days ago? Where was that?”

“At Old Trafford.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I went to see him as normal. I pop in occasionally just for a chat and to give him a book. The first book.”

“Your autobiography?”