Darth Vader | Real Milan | John DeBella | Pope

When Roman Abramovich bought Chelsea, my stint as chairman of Exeter City FC was coming to an end, and my wife Hanna sat me down at the breakfast bar in our kitchen for a pep talk.

She said, “Uri, you and this Russian guy, you’ve got a lot in common. You both love football. You both want to run clubs. You’re both handsome and you’re both Jewish, and you both have beautiful wives. But you know, there’s one big difference.” I was enjoying the flattery, of course, so I played along: “What’s the difference?” I asked.

“He is a billionaire,” Hanna said. There’s no doubting that: Roman’s top of the Sunday Times Rich List again, and I’m still not in it, anywhere, not even in the also-rans. (I checked. Twice.)

“I don’t mind if you want to buy another football club,” Hanna told me, “but next time, make sure you become a billionaire first.”

I promised my wife that I’d rather be a sandpit salesman in the Sahara than a soccer boss again. But I reckoned without Real Milan. You’ve heard of Inter Milan, one of Europe’s biggest clubs. And even if you never read the back pages of this paper, you know that David Beckham and Michael Owen play for Real Madrid.

But Real Milan? When a fax came through from the team’s coach, I was on the point of phoning John Motson for a memory update, to find out when Real Milan last played in the Champion’s League. And then I noticed the letterhead read “Slough, Berkshire”. It’s a stroke of genius. Roger Evans, a Slough shopkeeper and the father of 12-year-old Jack, has set up a club for the town’s schoolchildren and named it Real Milan. Why not? It’s a brilliant, inspiring, unforgettable name. And let’s face it, Real Slough would just sound silly.

There’s a serious purpose behind the cheeky name. “I’ve always been a great believer in positive thinking,” Roger told me. “It helps me stay focused, and I’d love to bring this way of thinking to a football club.“But there’s other reasons: I got tired of watching coaches and parents behaving badly during matches and encouraging their children to do likewise. The verbal abuse of referees and the lack of sportsmanship is noticeably on the increase.

“And diving, cheating and gloating is now considered the norm — in fact, it’s actively encouraged. My son Jack was getting as disillusioned as me, and we thought, ‘This is wrong! Let’s do something positive!’”

They were energetically encouraged by their friend Tariq Hussain, a 24-year-old former player who lost a leg in a tragic accident. “He’s an inspiration,” Roger told me. “You couldn’t wish to meet a more positive person.”

The young team dropped in at my home this week for motivation, and I was impressed by their positive attitudes and good manners — so impressed that I agreed to become the club’s president.

I was less impressed by Roger’s nicotine habit, though. “If you’re trying to be a role model for these kids, what kind of an example are you setting when you light a cigarette?” I demanded. “You better quit, starting right now!”

I’ll let you know how he gets on — and I’ll be sending him a few packets of chewing gum too, because the coach of Real Milan has got to chomp as confidently as the manager of Chelsea.

John DeBella insists he has never flown a Spitfire, but his handlebar moustache would make any Battle of Britain pilot proud. The Philadelphia radio host was broadcasting from London last week, just to inject some extra ginger into his top-rated show, and I was drafted in as a guest, almost by accident.

I’d dropped in on my daughter Nat at work — she’s part of Matthew Freud’s public relations team, and Matthew was rounding up a few celebs to join John on the air. I was awestruck by that tache and couldn’t help saying so, on air — this must have been the right thing to do, because I have a return invitation, to fly to Philly for the DeBella show. And all because I stuck my head round the door to say, “Hi Nat!” That afternoon we drove over to Dave Prowse’s home, to collect a copy of his new book and to inspect his extraordinary collection of colour plates from the first Star Wars movie.

Dave, of course, played Darth Vader, and he’s hit upon the extraordinary notion of signing every frame in the film... all 10,000 of them. George Lucas, the creator of the Star Wars series and a huge fan of Dave’s acting, agreed to supply the stills. All Dave has to do is sign them and sell them to besotted collectors.

I always wanted to be a rock star... now I’m a rock band. There’s a four-piece in Hamburg who call themselves ‘Uri Geller’. The set-up is drums, clarinet, organ and bass, so it’s not exactly guitar-pop. In fact, it’s barely even music. But I love them.