And there he is, strolling onto the balcony of his new £2.6million apartment, just me and Erling Haaland, on a leafy and deserted backstreet of Oslo’s most affluent district.
But first. Walk around this alluring city, where Nordic cool shines even brighter than the blistering sun, a tapestry of chic architecture, quirky drinking dens and young, radiant faces, and there is not a single trace of the Manchester City star.
No billboards. No murals. No neon ads illuminating Karl Johans street, with its mass of designer outlets. Even the Nike store showcases only female footballers in its window.