Magnificent jobsworthery

I've just been round at the pavilion waiting around for an interview with a chap who, it transpired, was in the nets half a mile away (if I had a pound for every half-hour I've wasted hanging around in the wrong place over the years I'd be able to pay off Warwickshire's loan from the council) and in the end gave up and began to walk the 100 yards over the grass outside the boundary rope back to the press-box, a route I had taken many, many times before. I had got about two thirds away when a distant voice from the pavilion gate yelled: "Excuse me" and waved me back over and I was told, in a very firm way, by a stern man with a radio, a clipboard and a blue jacket, that the club was on "high security alert" so under no circumstances as anybody allowed to walk across that short stretch of pleasant, fresh-mown grass.

Any mild irritation as such pointless, unfriendly authority pales alongside admiration at such truly magnificent, world-class jobsworthery.