Have you noticed that people who own dogs choose breeds that look like them? Or is it the other way round: do we dogs attach ourselves to people who we think look as though they belong to our pack?

Who knows? Whichever way round it is, the thought came into my mind the other day when I saw a picture of Harry Redknapp and his bulldog Rosie. The pudgy face, the droopy eyelids and jowls, the short legs, the wrinkles. Yep, I’d recognise Harry anywhere.

I must admit that I have never found myself that attracted to bulldogs – or Harry Redknapp, now that I think of it.

However, from what I read in the press last  week, maybe Harry looks better when he’s standing on his wallet, and perhaps Rosie would look better if she was standing on her Monaco bank account statements.

Oh, if only we had met when we were young. OK then, if only we had met when she was alive. If our paths had crossed in the park, I’m sure that she would have fallen for my slender long-limbed look.

And I can just see the two of us driving along the coast to Monte Carlo to check our bank balance; the blue Mediterranean twinkling beside us, roof down on the Corniche, and my ears blowing in the wind just like the winged Spirit of Ecstasy figure on the front of the bonnet.

I would have been in ecstasy at least once a month when I opened those bank statements and a life of luxury (or even more luxury) would have been mine by right. Look, it was destiny, our initials would have been the same as the car – Rosie and Rufus: ‘RR’.

But the question on the common is how did Rosie come by all that money? From the newspaper reports, it seems as though Harry and Milan Mandaric didn’t always see eye to eye on the Pompey football club signings. Maybe Milan paid Rosie for footballing tips and team selection hints. Perhaps she went on scouting trips.

In fact, I’m sure I’ve seen a dog chasing a football at the local recreation ground. Football must be a doddle after tax, and I’d love a bung to chew on occasionally.

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