My favourite part of Joey Barton’s autobiography relates to his transfer from Newcastle to QPR, driving to London to complete the formalities when he and his agent, Willie McKay, get within 10 minutes of the club’s training ground and the call finally arrives that the player has been waiting for all of his career.

If you have followed Barton’s recent pronouncements you will realise he has, to say the least, a rather generous view of his own ability (and plainly it’s a mystery to all of us that he has not won 100 England caps as part of that all-conquering midfield partnership with Steven Gerrard he once envisaged).

It clearly isn’t ideal, therefore, for such a talented player to be heading to QPR when someone with these gifts would surely be much better suited to one of the top clubs. But then, suddenly, the phone rings and Barton, sitting in the passenger seat, cannot help but notice “Sir Alex” pop up on the screen of his agent’s phone.

After a few pleasantries, the most successful manager in the business asks to be put through to Barton and it is that familiar Govan growl on the other end of the line. “I’ve seen what you’re up to on Sky. Don’t go doing anything silly now. Why don’t you come here and we’ll have a conversation?”

The two men talk about Barton’s potential role at Old Trafford, the extent of his ambitions and what they can achieve together, before Ferguson rings off with a promise to sort the money. “Hallelujah!” Barton writes. “Finally a big club, and a great manager, had come to their senses. I would give Manchester United’s midfield a bit of bite, an injection of urgency. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I asked McKay. ‘Turn the bloody car round.’”

That was the point McKay cannot keep up the pretence any longer, burst into laughter and explained he had a mate called Joe with an impression of Fergie that was close to perfection. “There would be no curtain call at Old Trafford, the Theatre of Dreams,” Barton laments. “My destination was a run-down former students’ sports ground on the Heathrow flight path.”

If nothing else, it shows he has the ability to laugh at himself.

It does, however, remind me of Ferguson’s real feelings when the player was linked with a move to Old Trafford a few years ago. Ferguson looked bewildered. “What kind of manager do they think I am?” he asked of the newspaper in question.