It is a fortunate and very privileged perk of doing the jobs I have in football and journalism that you get to know people who, as a fan, you might only ever see at a distance.

That was the case with Luca Vialli. The man was a legend, an incredible player who graced the top level of club football in Italy and England, as well as being a top international striker.

And here I was, sitting having a bit of lunch with the great man after he was appointed Watford manager and only a few weeks after I had bid farewell to the master himself, Graham Taylor.

Luca was a lovely man. A quick wit who made jokes with a poker face and someone who was gracious, polite, generous and very smart (both in terms of intelligence and his dapper dress sense).

Ok, so the season he spent at Vicarage Road wasn’t the best, but then there have been a few highly successful managers in charge of the club recently who have achieved no more – and I doubt they were as kind and wise as Vialli.

The thing with Luca was you knew you were in the presence of greatness. He oozed skill and knowledge and yet he was never big-headed. He didn’t put you down. He let you have your say, ask questions and express an opinion.

It’s true that his relationship with the Watford Observer was rocky, but in his defence he had probably never encountered a local newspaper that covered a team in the way the WO did then and still does today.

But as a man, as a colleague, as a friend, he was valued by me and thousands of others, as is evidenced by the constant stream of tributes since the announcement of his death.

Luca was charming, smooth, cool. I remember that of all the managers and players I have dealt with over the years, he was one my wife always recalls fondly. I think the way he would say ‘Hello Mrs French, and how are you today’ in that rather sultry Italian accent when she answered the phone to him had much to do with it…

He would often call for a chat, particularly as his time at Watford meant he was venturing in the second tier of English football for the first time and he was keen to learn more. He had a real appetite for understanding the game, and even my humble views were of interest to him.

He was certainly unpredictable. I remember when, on the way to an overnight stay before an away game, he decided to stop the coach in a small country pub and have a drink in the garden with the players.

The local newspaper got word, and I had to phone him to check it was true. He assured me it was, couldn’t understand why I was a bit perturbed and said “It is a lovely sunny afternoon Andrew, and we are only having one quick drink”.

He loved fine wines, and was never far away from a glass of red in his office after a home game. He was also rarely detached from a cigarette or his hair trimmers – I had to ask him to stop shaving the few bits of stubble on his head once after training as my voice recorder couldn’t pick him up clearly enough.

I recall seeing him join in with training a couple of times, and even post-retirement he still had the touch of a genius. Class is permanent, isn’t that what they say? It was with Luca.

Coming so soon after the loss of Pele, today is a reminder that we must treasure the heroes we hold so dear – especially when in Luca’s case they only live to 58.

The mark he made and the legacy he leaves football is enormous, and while his tenure at Watford may not have been his or the club’s finest hour, I’d urge all Hornets supporters to mourn the man, the brilliant character and his amazing achievements.

Luca, addio amico mio.