Only three things in life are guaranteed.

Death, taxes and the existence of jobsworths.

Like the fabled cockroach, they'll likely be the sole survivors of a global catastrophe, emerging from the rubble dishevelled but undeterred from their misery-spreading mission as they clutch a clip-board and exclaim smugly: "Er, I think you'll find, that you are contravening a number of regulations here".

Some are born great, some achieve it and some realise early on that greatness is likely to elude them so set about bitterly brandishing the smidgen of power they have.

Enter, stage right, the uptight jobsworth I had the misfortune to cross paths with on my morning commute.

I buy pre-printed tickets for my regular train journey which require that day's date to be scribbled on with pen.

Having hurried to catch the train, I was already in transit before I realised my hideous mistake. I had my tickets, but my trusty biro was nowhere to be found. A vague flashback to my toddler turning my handbag upside down and gleefully scattering its contents came into my head.

No worries, I think to myself, I can see that the conductor coming my way has a pen in his hand.

But no, how I have misjudged the gravity of this situation.

I am, in fact, a fraudster, announces Ticket Man to the now hushed, packed carriage. I have been attempting to use my ticket fraudulently and it will now be confiscated. I must now use a second (also blank) pre-paid ticket for this journey. If I have a problem with this, criminal proceedings will be started against me. It's a lot to take in.

Not being in possession of a criminal mind - clearly, a shortcoming which has denied me much in life - I fail to see how the presence of a written date on a ticket makes a jot of a difference as I feed it into the ticket-swallowing machine at my destination. Is the implication that I am going to catapult myself over the metal barrier and attempt to use the ticket again? That would be quite some feat for a clearly pregnant lady, and, on balance, probably not worth it.

I have come across many helpful, charming conductors so I realise it's not part of the job description, but a personality flaw which leads to such literal interpretations of The Rules.

What to do when we encounter such behaviour? Shake our fist inpotently at the sky? No, we can only smile through gritted teeth and hope that what goes around comes around.