I HAVE learnt to expect the unexpected during my four years as a sports journalist.

I have watched on as Swindon Town secured dramatic late wins and also grabbed defeat from the jaws of victory, been covered in champagne after reporting on Worcester Warriors’ promotion back to rugby’s Premiership, and asked the simplest of questions which Paolo Di Canio turned into a 20-minute rant.

What I didn’t expect, though, was firstly Swindon Robins’ Friday night meeting at Peterborough even to go-ahead following an almighty downpour, and then to be locked inside the East of England Showground well into the night in the pitch black.

I had really enjoyed my trip to the Panthers, a club with great facilities and some lovely people, and having spoken to Robins boss Alun Rossiter and filed my report on another impressive Swindon victory by 10.15pm I thought I was ready for the long drive home. But the following 45 minutes were more frustrating than any half of football I have witnessed recently at the County Ground.

As I walked out of the press box into the darkness I quickly noticed all the riders and their vans had departed, and the once noisy bar was deserted, but I still fully expected to be able to walk out through the gate from which I entered.

I couldn’t, it was locked.

Being completely stranded in hadn’t crossed my mind by this point, and I scouted around for an alternative exit which I fully expected to find using the next to useless torch app on my phone.

Anyone who has been to watch speedway at the Showground, or indeed has been there to buy or sell livestock, will know there is a ring of high metal fences forming a compound around the speedway track, which also houses the Peterborough Arena.

While hunting for a gap I was approached by two big bald security guards with torches who assumed I was a burglar, and despite the fact I look as harmless as the Hobbits in the Lord of the Rings films, the pair of Golum lookalikes were incredibly aggressive.

It turned out they were not trusted with keys either and couldn’t or wouldn’t open the gate, and suggested I made the near mile-long walk round to another gate in the hope it was still open. They were patrolling the compound in a Ford Mondeo but didn’t offer me a lift, how rude.

After stumbling around a pitch black field covered in horse poo I found to my dismay that the gate in question was closed, and at this point I feared I may be spending the night in Peterborough.

Fortunately though a little walk allowed me to find a bit of fence I thought I could hop over, despite not being much taller than the previously mentioned Hobbits, and with that I was free.

Another long hike was required to get back to my car which was frustratingly only metres away from where I started, and although my trainers were ruined by a horse that must have a severe haemorrhoid problem, I was glad to finally be on my way home.

The one plus of the evening was the chance to have a snoop around inside the referee’s control box once I was alone, but when I found the big red button didn’t set off any fireworks the experience then seemed thoroughly underwhelming.

If I managed to escape from the County Ground after Town’s game with Crewe last night, I look forward to reporting on what is sure to be another successful season for the men from Blunsdon.