True genius
Just occasionally in the course of a workmanlike sporting year you witness a flash of genius, a display of virtuoso brilliance, that makes all the drudgery and 25-hour working days worthwhile. I have just encountered such a moment. Some truly sensational jobsworthing.
Swindon Town's car park has, at a rough estimate, about 800 spaces. When I arrived this afternoon around 780 of them were empty.
I was relieved of a ten-pound note by a gentleman in an orange jacket and told to report to his colleague in the distance for instructions. This latter gentleman is the genius.
Across the cavernous empty tarmac I drove, right up to him. "Park next to that one in the corner," he said. So I did.
He followed me over. "Can you get a bit closer?" Fair enough. So I did.
"Closer, closer," he insisted.
I was pretty close at this stage. To my right, it would have been just about possible for me to squeeze out of my car or the other driver to squeeze into his. To my left stretched a gargantuan expanse of empty car-park.
"Closer, closer."
"Bit more."
By the time he was satisfied you could just about get a fag paper between the two cars. He looked well-pleased with this state of affairs. He'll be less smug if I catch up with him in the event of the other driver returning to his car and thinking "what prat parked that close?" and depositing a large scratch on the paintwork?
True genius. You can't buy jobsworthing talent like that.
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Brian Halford - Brian Halford’s look at Edgbaston.
...and he had one more trick up his sleeve. During the match he went and obtained a huge very very very slow-moving vehicle - picture a giant two-toed sloth on wheels - then parked in a quiet lay-by and bided his time before pulling out on to the A429 at just the right moment to ensure that I trundled the first ten miles of the journey home at about two inches a fortnight.
Genius, I say, genius.