Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard. Frank Lampard

Ham’s Chadwell Heath training ground because I was embarrassed but after training, when all the other older pros had gone home, I would run up and down outside the gym. Dad would sometimes catch sight of me from his office across the way and I would see him smile or nod. I became quite superstitious about it. Of course, it didn’t help having Dad ask me all the time – even when I was in the West Ham first team. That was the thing with Dad. He didn’t want to have to tell me. He wanted me to do it of my own accord.

      It wasn’t just me he affected in that way though. When Rio Ferdinand and I were apprentices at West Ham he would take Rio after training and do an hour’s practice on his heading. Rio is an incredibly talented footballer. He can do things with his feet that a lot of ball players would struggle to. But when it was decided that he should be a defender, he wasn’t the best with his head. Dad coached him and after a while Rio took it upon himself to find someone else to help him practise. The most important lesson was mental discipline and all of the players at the very highest level have it.

      Gianfranco Zola used to hit more than a hundred balls every day after training was finished at Chelsea. When everyone else headed for the showers Franco stood in front of the goal and concentrated for a while longer. Bang, bang, bang. He was like a metronome. Even he, one of the most sublimely talented footballers I have ever played with, knew he needed to practise. It’s common among the elite and rare among the ordinary. Wayne Rooney does it when we are training with England. So do I.

      Dad introduced me to that, was instrumental in instilling it, and it has been crucial to my development. Now I come across young kids who think because they have a contract with Chelsea they have made it. They drive nice cars and can’t wait to get into them and speed off after training. There are some good ones who will hang around and do a bit extra. I often stay on and practise shooting or free-kicks and one or two of the academy lads want to learn. They’ve got a chance of making it. I did my spikes and my agility training. I also practised in the park with the ball for hours.

      Even before I signed for West Ham my Dad would take me to Chadwell Heath when the players had a day off and he would work on different aspects of my game. He would smash balls off the wall of the gym and make me stand with my back to the wall. I had to turn when I heard the ball rebound and react to whatever came my way. Dad knew that agility was a big part of succeeding in the middle of the park and I had to bring the ball under control. At times it was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially when it was freezing in the wind and miserable with rain. I still went though. He was obsessed with that kind of thing and in turn he made me obsessed. I was only 14 at the time.

      I remember Tony Cottee was the man at West Ham then and Dad told me that Tony’s Dad had brought him to the ground and done the same thing that we were doing. It was his way of goading me into trying even harder, a sort of ‘He did it and look where he is’ kind of thing. I remember thinking that if Tony Cottee did it then I wanted to do it. It wasn’t usual to do that kind of work with a 14-year-old and I realized even then that my life was different from other kids. Most boys that age would never take up that kind of training but I was fortunate that Dad saw weaknesses before they were even there.

      He was ahead of the game for that reason. He had a vision of how football was going and where it would eventually end up. When he played in the seventies, the game was much slower and less technical, athletic and competitive. It was completely different. Teams are tactically more aware now as well as physically stronger and my Dad, unlike a lot of others, saw that coming. He told me I had to increase my pace and strength. He would go on and on at me and I got fed up and angry with the constant nagging. When I was eleven I played in a game which hadn’t gone well. Dad was angry with me but I didn’t know what I had done wrong. He sat me down and got a pen and paper and explained to me how important it was when you played in midfield to cover runners. Before then, if someone played a one-two around me I would try to intercept the ball and the guy running would get played in behind me.

      It’s the kind of thing that most kids don’t get coached on until youth level and there I was having it drilled in to me aged eleven. Covering runners is not fun and was probably the last thing I wanted to do. I was like every other kid who just wanted to get the ball and play without thinking about the consequences of the guy running in behind me. As you get older though, you realize their importance defensively and it gave me a head start.

      I was already a very competitive child. Hardly surprising given my Dad’s career though my Mum was always the one who encouraged me to keep going and do better. Right from the start Dad was great at identifying the things I should work on and needed to improve but it was Mum who told me I should do it for myself. There is a photograph from that time which was taken at one of the summer schools. Even now Mum reminds me of it. I was not a good-looking child by any stretch and there’s me with my chubby little face and geeky teeth. ‘Who would have thought that you would be the one who ended up playing for Chelsea and England?’ she likes to say.

      I am not alone in our family in having the honour to have played for my country. Dad played for England as did my cousin Jamie. When we were growing up, I can’t say that it felt unusual to be surrounded by people who were so immersed in football. How could it be? It was mostly all I had known and I just assumed that every family was like mine. I was wrong.

      Bobby Moore used to come to our house to see Dad. I would walk into the lounge and the two of them would be there chatting about West Ham and football, with Mum fussing around with tea and biscuits. It never occurred to me that the man who had lifted the World Cup as captain of England was sitting on my couch.

      Even when we went to Uncle Harry’s it didn’t really register that there was something very different, very special about my family. It was just us. I used to go to their house in Bournemouth on holiday every year and it was like going to the beach. My cousin Mark was also a very good footballer but his career was cut short by a bad knee injury. Whenever we all got together we talked about football. There were exceptions but not many.

      Summer down at the Redknapps was a great season and they had a big party for Jamie’s birthday. The whole thing was over two days and when I turned up I was star struck. A few of the Liverpool boys were there, including Robbie Fowler. Trevor Sinclair was there too, though there was no doubt who the stars of the day were. It was the time of the infamous ‘spice boys’ and the lads had turned out in force. Jamie was very trendy and always first with new fashions. Quite a few times I got back from Bournemouth and told Mum what she needed to be buying to make me look good. On this particular occasion the lads were in Ralph Lauren shirts and tailored jeans.

      There was a big barbeque in the garden of the house and it was crazy. There were gorgeous girls everywhere and, of course, Jamie was the king, the one they all wanted to talk to. It was an incredible sight. Jamie was cruising around with his mates, talking to everyone. I, on the other hand, felt a bit self-conscious. I was a lot younger and would not have blamed Jamie if he hadn’t even noticed that I’d turned up. Thing is, though, he always had time for me. I can’t imagine that too many big cousins who were in his position and at that party would have but he was very much like a big brother. When you grow up with someone like that you are always looking to them to set the standard and example. I went on my first boys’ holiday to Cyprus with Jamie, Don Hutchison and couple of Jamie’s mates from Bournemouth. I’m not sure how I ended up going at 17 but I persuaded my Mum it would be okay.

      I had already been to Bermuda with my parents that summer. Dad did some coaching out there with former West Ham striker Clyde Best. I put some suntan oil on my face when I was there and came out in a big rash. I couldn’t believe it. I was going on holiday with Liverpool’s pin-up boy and his mates and I looked a real mess. They were brilliant though. He didn’t need the responsibility of having his little cousin there but he looked after me despite my beetroot face. While we were there we went into the main square of the town and before we knew it there was a huge crowd of people asking for autographs and to have pictures taken with him.

      He was being really nice to everyone who approached him. I know now that it can become a nuisance. After all, you are there with your mates and trying to relax. In fact, I have seen players in that situation react very differently. I’ve seen some be very rude and tell people to get lost and the like – especially after a couple of beers. But Jamie was polite and it