"Look at tha. Jus' look at tha. Perfect. Ab-sol-u-tely perfect," he sighs. He could be analysing a slow motion replay of a flawlessly-timed Sami Hyypia tackle on Match of the Day, or a clip of Steven Gerrard dutifully "tracking back" but he's not.

Alan Hansen is gazing wistfully out the window of his hotel room, at the balmy summer's day that welcomed him when he arrived in Dublin that morning. "You know where I'd love to be now," he says. On a golf course? "Aye," he nods, forlornly. "Christ, aye."

It's not to be, though, even if he is tempted to mitch and spend the day doing what he loves doing most: playing golf. Instead he'll spend the day doing what he's renowned for doing these days: talking football. He's only half way through the first of a crammed two-day trip to Ireland. That night he'll answer questions from an audience of 800 football fans at the Submarine bar in Crumlin, as part of the Smithwick's "Head to Head" series, before moving on to Galway where he'll do the same. In between he'll talk football on radio, television and television and radio and . . .

. . . and with every passer-by who recognises him, which is just about every passer-by. "Has Keano lost the plot?" "Are Liverpool back?" "What's Gary Lineker really like?" "Hey Alan, d'you ever regret not playing for a big club?"

Tired of talking football? "Aye, same questions, same answers, but you get used to it," he says. Same questions? Okay, maybe we'll leave the "are you sure you don't want to go into football management" query till later. How about: is it true you bought a cheap hoover in Rumbelows in Nottingham?

He slides forward to the edge of his chair and strangles an invisible neck before him. He looks almost as exasperated as those times Jimmy Hill insisted on explaining the offside rule to him. He's aware, it would appear, of the allegation. "Well, let me tell you - I have never, EVER, been in Rumbelows in Nottingham," he says, jabbing the air with his forefinger. "There was another one about a year ago that had me in Rotherham - I can never remember being in Rotherham. Och! I can assure you I did NOT buy a cheap hoover in Rumbelows in Nottingham."

Clarification, perhaps, is required. "The Alan Hansen Appreciation Society" is a website set up by a devotee of British television's most famous football pundit and features a section entitled "Alan Spotting", to which you're invited to contribute if you ever see him out and about. "We spotted the great man bartering over a "Henry" hoover with a member of staff. He was quite persuasive, and we overheard him seal the price for the ex-rental hoover at forty-five quid," claimed the Nottingham Alan "spotter" who, perhaps, should have left Rumbelows for SpecSavers. Wacky stuff, he agrees, but, he says, a sign of how life is, now that he makes his living in television land and, consequently, can be filed in the "celebrity" category. "I can't go anywhere now. There was no problem when I was playing but now that I'm on television every week? Crazy. But I get used to it, it's just because football is so popular, so everywhere you go people recognise you and ask you questions. The London taxi drivers are the worst because they ask you a question then answer it themselves."

Back in January Hansen was included for the first time in Who's Who, the British directory of the "great and good", along with luminaries the like of Harry Potter creator J K Rowling and Chris Who Wants To Be A Millionaire Tarrant. Winning 17 major trophies in the course of a brilliant 13-year career with Liverpool didn't earn him a mention, but the prominence that goes with the territory of a television career did the trick.

Not that he ever planned on going down the punditry route after he finished playing but when he retired at 35 it suddenly dawned on him that he was hopelessly unprepared for a life after football. "You really aren't qualified to do a lot, in fact if you don't stay in football you're not qualified to do anything.

"I'd retired in the February (1991) and I didn't want to stay in football so my wife said to me `what are you going to do now?' I said `don't matter, that phone will never stop ringing'. About four months later she said `remember that phone?'. It wasn't like me to be naive, because I ain't naive, but looking back it WAS naive because who would have wanted me? I wasn't qualified to do anything."

Just as panic began to set in, Sky Sports' Andy Gray accepted the assistant manager's job at Aston Villa so the channel had a vacancy. Hansen rang them up and they offered him a spot on their Italian football coverage. From there he got work with the BBC, where he's been ever since and where he has another three years of a contract to run - one he'll see out, he says, despite the channel losing Premiership highlights to ITV. While there isn't a hint of sentimentality about his reflections on his playing career he admits that nothing in his life since has even come close to matching the good times he had at Anfield.

"I was fortunate to have won 17 major trophies at Liverpool but the best bit was always, always when you'd wake up the next morning after you'd won it - not WHEN you won it, not even going up the steps to get the medal, not even when you got in the dressing room, it was the next morning. You wake up, sore head, but you have this feeling of elation like you would never believe."

"It's hard to describe it but I've been in television 10 years now and I've never, ever been close to that feeling. I've done World Cups, European Championships, all that - never even close. Maybe you get the viewing figures, you've annihilated the opposition, you're doing cart-wheels, but still, it's not even close. I mean, it's nice, don't get me wrong, but, na, that was a feeling you couldn't buy, so I miss that.

"I don't miss playing football in the slightest - I was nearly 36 when I retired so I was ready, but I miss the camaraderie, going into training, the guys. We had a lot of fun, never stopped laughing, great times."

Yes, considering his pay packet peaked at £3,000-a-week when he was at Liverpool he marvels at the money today's professionals earn, but, he says, he wouldn't swap even one of his treasured memories for a salary of Rivaldo proportions. "If you offered me five years of £60,000-a-week but took away one of the medals I won then it wouldn't be any use. It's not the medal, it's the times I had winning it. The money is nice but the time is your life. I can look back through the cuttings when I'm 65 and think `what a great game that was, what a night we had there', absolutely fantastic - £60,000-aweek can't buy those memories." "Anyway, I wouldn't have liked the kind of hysteria that surrounds footballers now, I'm bad enough walking around with people asking me questions. I think it must be very difficult for the likes of Owen and Beckham - I mean Owen can't even walk around Liverpool any more, for Beckham it's worse. The dream ticket is to have the money, have the times and be anonymous, but you can't have all three."

"I've been very, very fortunate, though. There are two sets of ex-footballers and I belong to the fortunate group that doesn't miss football because there a lot of guys who really do. And on top of that I got in to television, which I was really lucky to do."

But it still doesn't hold a light to your playing days? "No. I can't say I love it, but then I never loved the football - I'm a golfer. In a perfect life I would have been a professional golfer." And with that he throws another longing glance towards the cloudless sky. Then he shakes his head and smiles. "Och."