The lunch hour walks by the River Trent might be vaguely appealing and London, a city he loves will be a commutable hour's train journey away but the prospect of life at Notts County —and a new campaign beginning with the arrival of Bradford City and the unprepossessing surrounds of Moss Rose, Macclesfield and Barnet's Underhill before summer is out — is not quite what Sven Goran Eriksson had in mind when he contemplated where he would like the twilight of his managerial career to play out.

Portugal, where his success in two stints with Benfica from 1982-1984 was the place he favoured.

“It's a friendly country — small, extremely good weather, good food,” he said shortly before his star began to wane at Manchester City, 18 months ago. “You have the sea, too. An extremely peaceful country.”

That seemed to be a real prospect a month ago when one of the candidates for the presidency of Sporting Lisbon, Paulo Cristovao, declared him his preferred manager. Cristovao and Eriksson were pictured together at the time but Cristovao collected only 10% of the votes in the election — which pretty much sums up Eriksson's last 12 months.

If the tour of Meadow Lane which Eriksson has already undertaken does, as some sources suggest, result in him being appointed director of football today, it will represent a remarkable fall for an individual whose managerial life in the bear pit makes that of his Manchester City successor Mark Hughes seem tame. After creating what World Soccermagazine labelled “the most expensive team in history” with Sergio Cragnotti's seemingly bottomless pit of cash at Lazio in the 1990s, was told in the January of his third season: “Win something or you'll be sacked in June.” He opted for the former.

But Eriksson's languid style and famed refusal to be apologetic for appreciating the finer things — and the finer women —in life have become an anachronism. Where once he fitted for England, only Fabio Capello will now do; where once for City, it is Mark Hughes — an individual in the same, driven mould.

Eriksson was unfortunate to be removed from City so quickly — the aspirations he created in the first half of his first season were his undoing — but it is improbable that Sheikh Zayed al Nahyan, with his highly driven business philosophy, would have cared for him much more than Thaksin.

Eriksson will, of course, be widely ridiculed for following the money if he washes up as the most unlikely footballing inhabitant of Clough country. (“If there's money in it, it won't surprise me if he's near it,” was yesterday's observation from one Portuguese observer who has watched Eriksson over time.)

But there are others who would say that he has every right to take what he can from a game which has kicked him. The way Eriksson, a gracious individual, was treated at City before Thaksin Shinawatra's acolytes finally kicked him out was nothing less than disgraceful.

On one occasion he waited for two hours and no-one showed; on another he approached the individual he was supposed to be meeting at Manchester's Radisson Edwardian hotel and she hastily walked away. The Thais were banking on him resigning but Eriksson stood firm.

Some of those close to Eriksson, including his staunch ally and lieutenant Tord Grip are understood to be encouraging him to resist any temptations to take the easy life in Nottingham and the relatively modest sum understood to be on offer — the £40,000 a week figure remains unconfirmed — contributes to a sense that Eriksson could still do better.

But he is his own man, he likes Britain deeply, and on one point there can be certainty: that he will be oblivious to the splutters of astonishment if he does make the move.