In 1972, I wrote The Glory Game, a book about a real, professional football team, Tottenham Hotspur FC.

I had followed Spurs since I first came to London, just because I wanted a London team to go and watch. Arsenal's ground was slightly nearer, but Spurs were better, more entertaining and successful, winning the Double in 1961, so I started going along to White Hart Lane, queuing up to get in and stand on the terraces. Most of their games in the 1960s were a sell-out.

I even took Margaret along once. A sign said All Tickets Sold and she said, 'Good, that's it, let's go home.' I never pay attention to such notices, or to signs saying One Way Street or No Entry. They are for other people. I walked round the whole ground and I did eventually find a turnstile still letting people in.

In 1971, when I first thought of trying to do a book about the inside life of a football team, I naturally wanted to do Spurs. I wrote to them, but got no reply. I later spoke to Brian Glanville who said I was stupid to approach Spurs - their board was the most unhelpful and old-fashioned and Bill Nicholson, their manager, was dour and uncooperative. So I contacted Arsenal, with no luck, and also Chelsea, where I was invited along to talk to Brian Mears, the chairman and owner. But that came to nothing.

My idea was to follow a team, a professional team, over a year, and then shape it so there was a narrative, a development. Along the way, you would learn how a top club operates, about the apprentices, scouts, coaches as well as the star players. Tony Godwin was very keen on the project, despite his lack of interest in football. Other people at Weidenfeld, and in the book trade, thought that a book about one specific club would have limited interest. Who would want to read about Spurs, outside London N17? There would be very few sales in Manchester or Liverpool.

In the end, I went back to Spurs and got their agreement to do a journalistic piece about them, for The Sunday Times. This was a trial run, to see if they liked me and if I could get inside, secure access. Nobody at the club objected when the article appeared, so at the beginning of the 1971-2 season, I just turned up on the first day, 15 July 1971, for their four weeks of pre-season training at their training ground at Cheshunt, in Herts.

I had no contract with the club - either with the chairman or with Bill Nick, the manager. I just gave the impression to each of them that the other had agreed to my project. But I had promised each that they could read the finished book, before publication. I had also told the nineteen in the first-team pool that they would share 50 per cent of the book's proceeds, so there might be a few bob in it for them. This had Richard Simon, my agent, moaning and groaning, thinking of having to constantly divide up piddling sums by nineteen.

At first, I stood on the touch line at the training ground, watching Bill talking to the players about the season ahead, then doing a few exercises. I followed them afterwards into the changing room - and no one stopped me. Next day, I went straight into the changing room. That day, they were going on a cross-country run. To my delight, Bill threw me a Spurs training kit, with a number on, just like the rest of them, and told me to join in their run. Which I did, with a struggle. Quite a few of the players also struggled, or moaned and groaned. Most players anyway hate running any distance, especially without a ball. And as with any group, even professional sportsmen, there are always the skivers, cutting corners. At the time I was thirty-four, the same age as some of the more senior players. So, I didn't stand out too much. Playing Sunday-morning football had kept me fairly fit.

I came back, had a shower with them, and carried on like that during the rest of the pre-season training, even making up the numbers on the pitch for little ball exercises. By the time the season started, I felt accepted. I'd got to know each of the players, and the coaching staff, finding out who were the influential ones, who to be careful with.

When the season proper began, I was thus able to insinuate myself into the dressing room before and after most matches, walking in as if I were part of the squad. On away games, or when going abroad, I travelled with the team on the train in their reserved section - teams did not use luxury coaches in those days - or on their specially chartered plane. It was much easier abroad, as all the foreign officials assumed I was a player. In a game against Nantes, I am described in a photo, which appeared in the Spurs programme, as one of the Spurs players. That was a highlight. At the San Siro stadium, for their UEFA game against AC Milan, I sat on the bench, along with Bill and the real subs.

Over the season, there were times when I thought my game might be up and I could be ejected, such as at half time in one game where Bill Nick was absolutely furious with Martin Chivers, Spurs' centre forward. In the dressing room, a glass got smashed, by accident, but emotions were so high that I expected Bill to suddenly catch sight of me, an outsider, standing in the corner of the dressing room, and take his anger out on me, ordering me out.

During the year doing the book, I was aware of this possibility, but at the same time, I used to tell myself that at least I will have been inside the dressing room of a top team, something I had always wanted to do. Even if the book fails, and never comes out, I will have had that experience.

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