England reign in Spain in UEFA Nations League win against Spain.

England reign in Spain in UEFA Nations League win against Spain.

So it was that England overcame the matador, the picador and the toreador all at once. There, that was easy enough. After performing before the proverbial two dogs and a cat in Croatia, England showed both their feline and canine side against a Spain side who once boasted a couple of European Championship titles and a World Cup for good measure.

Last night in the place where they grow oranges, England gave one of the juiciest and appealing of  UEFA Nations League 3-2 victories and then began to realise just how good that felt. Besides it isn't every day that you get to meet the former World Champions and then dismissively sweep them away like dust from the floor. This was an excellent England display and once again replicated the feelgood factor still accompanying England after the most epic of all World Cups in Russia this summer.

True, this may have been the UEFA Nations League and there are some of us who may be feeling sold down the river and  desperately short changed but England have undeniably won again and that has to be good. Of course something has been lost in the translation and the UEFA Nations League still has echoes of those distant 1970s English club pre- season tournaments such as the Texaco Cup or the Watney Cup, international matches but international matches without clout and prestige. Or maybe the UEFA Nations League should be taken seriously.

Still, here we are in what feels suspiciously like dress rehearsals for the European Championship qualifiers and it all feels very strange even mundane. You're reminded of that phoney war known as the Confederations Cup, the tournament that now precedes the World Cup the year before the real thing takes place. Some of us though are still tapping our fingers on the table, searching for some kind of clarification and wondering why this is happening at all.

But onwards and upwards and we must confront the immediate future rather than a dusty, antiquated past where nothing useful can be gained. This was another incarnation of the England side who had bent over backwards and bust a gut to give the whole of England both at home and in Russia such enormous pleasure under the stern gazes of both Stalin and Lenin which couldn't have been easy given that the equally as forbidding faces of  Brezhnev and Yeltsin may have well been looking on judgmentally as well.

This could have been regarded as simply a continuation of those heady, giddy and dizzy days of wine and roses which came perfectly delivered to our doorsteps like the most magnificent bouquet of flowers. Russia is now history and now Gareth Southgate's newly refreshed England side came flying out of the traps like the sleekest of greyhounds. Slight alterations and minor tweaks had been made to last night's most delectable of victories. It was as if somebody had given us the most mouth watering marzipan cake and smothered it with cherries and overflowing cream.

Against Spain, England looked once again like a stunning replica of the side who'd flattened Panama, dealt admirably with Colombia in the face of spiky and often unforgivable provocation and then slipped Sweden into their pockets like a child picking up their sweet wrapper. There were some old faces, new faces, welcome faces and faces that just fitted into the side seamlessly. England looked something close to the finished article that almost ended up in a World Cup Final, a position that must have beyond any of their wildest fantasies at the beginning of the year.

There was the return of Chelsea's Ross Barkley, an excellently creative midfield playmaker whose remarkable vision and almost extra sensory perception singled him out at Everton as one of the most refined of footballing architects. Barkley seems to weigh up his passes like one of those supermarket shoppers from yesteryear who used to insist that their meat and cheese be cut and measured to the exact amount.

Barkley once again then floated and glided around the middle of the Seville pitch, cutting inside, loitering with commendable intent and then thrusting forward into the opposition half rather like some devious impostor at a party who, quite clearly, hadn't been invited. Barkley is one of England's  most complete of midfield players and, you feel sure, will inevitably be given his chance to cement his place in Gareth Southgate's flowering England side.

Next to Barkley is Harry Winks, a wet behind the ears Spurs discovery who has shown quite consistently that he too can wear the artists smock when called upon. Winks plays with the ball delicately, tenderly, easily and precisely, laying the ball into his colleague's path with pleasing economy of effort and then showing a relaxed assurance on the ball. It is impossible to know whether Winks could be the next Glen Hoddle but Winks has the most feathery and gossamer touch and could be among one of Gareth Southgate's essential fixtures and fittings.

As usual England looked rock solid and secure at the back with Eric Dier locking up the keys commandingly at the back before venturing forward into that definitive defensive holding midfield role that he seems to have made his province. The exceptionally young but superbly promising Joe Gomez, a real find for Liverpool and that formidable set piece corner exponent Harry Maguire look like human fortresses. veritable brick walls at the back through whom nothing should ever pass.

But it was the exciting contributions of Raheem Sterling, Marcus Rashford and above all World Cup skipper and record goal scorer Harry Kane who tempted us to think that one day it could all fall into place with no hesitation or deviation. Most of us know what we're going to get with England and the element of surprise could be something to work on. We can only be thankful and look back on that festival of football with the fondest of memories and an affectionate acknowledgement of what it was like to be an England football supporter without getting too sentimental.

 Quite obviously the players who succeeded at every level for England during the summer are now blending in perfectly, a nicely integrated attacking unit who could yet step up to a far higher footballing platform provided nobody mentions penalty shoot outs at dinner parties across the land.

England made that all important breakthrough after, ironically a tidal wave of Spanish pressure which bore no resemblance to the Armada but did threaten English confidence and equilibrium. Raheem Sterling, running purposefully onto a neatly weighted pass  rifled the ball into the Spanish net with a drilled shot which gave the Spain keeper no chance whatsoever.

Then before the Spanish could resort to sangria by way of liquid refreshment, England extended their lead. Marcus Rashford, who really does possess the potential to emerge as one of England's finest of all strikers, latched onto sharply to a deft Harry Kane lay back. Another well structured England movement, quick and clinical, resulted in Rashford barging his way into the box before steering the ball fiercely past the keeper. This was perhaps one of the most rewarding nights England have had for some time against one of the top notch, nouveau riche and classical of European teams.

Although Spain briefly rallied with what proved to be consolation goals, England were firing from all angles, constantly upsetting and troubling Spain with pacy, cuttingly penetrative football. England's attacking forward line were full of salt, vinegar and spice, a combination of  controlled aggression and bullish combativeness, beefy ingredients with steak and kidney pie in one healthy serving.

After the match itself the considered opinion was that this was England's best result in recent times and one that bore comparison with that famous night when England just sliced open the Germans with a 5-1 demolition 17 years ago. This was no Munich though rather the most delicious Spanish paella with maybe a fine vintage of red wine to wash it down with.

And so it was that we move away from the international scene for a while and revert back to the toil and drudgery of the Premier League. The factory floor is still humming and the workers will be as industrious as ever. This weekend we will once again cast our eyes towards  the grumpy one who goes by the name of Manchester United's Jose Mourinho, the attractively fashionable one who is Pep Guardiola at Manchester City, the new Unai Emery at Arsenal and that financial whizz kid who used to be a banker and is now Chelsea manager.

 We will watch Maurizio Sarri with some interest if you'll forgive yet another pun and hope that he doesn't get quite as excitable as his predecessor Antonio Conte who loved nothing better than a good dive into the Chelsea crowd and always wore black. These are notable times in our lives and when the Premier League does get back to some semblance of order we may find that the familiar names will be ready and waiting with the same clothes and the same habits. We can hardly wait.