The light-fingered policeman

After Scotland’s thrilling last-ball shocker over Ireland this afternoon, I left the picturesque Nairobi Gymkhana in buoyant, chirpy, looking-forward-to-a-beer mood. It was a swelteringly hot day, compounded by the greenhouse of a press box we were caged in (although, it must be said, the view from it was magnificent – and a damn sight better than many Test grounds in England), and libation was needed.

After nearly half-an-hour Joseph, my cabbie, arrived in his Toyota banger. His wreck has just one redeeming feature: you can hear it rattle from about 1km, giving you just enough time to rise from your seat and flag him down in case the brakes aren’t working. Off we set, out of the Gymkhana and down the slip-road onto the main highway, but were abruptly stopped by a 4x4 in front of us who had been halted by a policeman.

A tall, furious man, spitting venom, he marched the driver through the traffic to another policeman – and then set his eyes on us. By this point, Joseph was getting decidedly edgy, but my classic, foolish Englishness kicked in. Clearly he’s just having a bad day. He is a policeman after all – there to protect the public and uphold the law.

No sooner had he slammed his fist on the bonnet and screamed blue murder at Joseph, than he thrust his hand through the small gap in the window and ripped out the car keys, demanding the driver handed over his licence. So he did, and he too was marched down the street.

Muggins was left in the car, with a laptop and various other worryingly expensive treats, while every Nairobian glared at the useless Toyota, and stupid Englishman, blocking their path. After 15 minutes Joseph returned, keyless, and it was another 10 before the keys had been prised from the traffic tyrant.

As we drove off, in a state of near euphoria, we saw the same policeman stop a large truck, step to the passenger’s door and fling out two passengers onto the road. Just another hazard in downtown Nairobi ...