Mike Rowbottom: Just hope that embarrassing Tannoy message is not for you

The train had stopped at Harlow Town. Nothing wrong with that as such, but it wasn't supposed to. And the lights had failed. This was confirmed by the fact that a couple of giggling youths were moving through the carriages singing the "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me Galileo, Galileo'' bit from Bohemian Rhapsody. They wouldn't have had the nerve if anyone could have seen them.

So far, so what. Just another day on the WAGN Line. I must remind myself sometime what WAGN stands for. I assume it isn't We're All Going Nowhere.

But here's the heartening bit. We had been in the dark, literally and metaphorically, for no more than 10 minutes or so – that's the blink of an eye in train-stopped time – when the guard strode through the carriage, talking urgently to his mobile phone.

''Yes... yes... yes, we've done that,'' he said. "I know, but the whole of the back unit's gone. Lights and everything... yes...''

As an announcement, this was less than reassuring. But at least, as we sat there unilluminated, at least we knew that someone cared, and someone was trying to do something. It helped.

Generally speaking with announcements, anything is better than nothing. When you are sitting on board a stationary train, for instance, you want some kind of acknowledgement of the fact, if only to be reassured that all relevant personnel haven't simply clocked off and gone home. And more often than not, it's the tone that's important. Other than being told exactly how long the delay will last – information that is never available – the only requirement is that, if I may be Californian for a moment, someone should feel your pain.

One of the big bonuses of announcements at sporting occasions, I find, is that they allow us to feel someone else's pain. "Would the owner of a blue Peugeot, registration number S138 RTB, please move their vehicle immediately as it is blocking an emergency exit and is liable to be towed away.'' Just what someone wants to hear half-way through a frantic first half when they are wedged in the middle of a row of seating. Imagine that stab of recognition somewhere between the second and third rib. The involuntary expostulation. "St!'' Then the awkwardness. "Excuse me... sorry... sorry, can I get through?... excuse me...'' And the mental image of hydraulic lifting gear already getting to work under the direction of determined men in donkey jackets...

At a recent match I heard another Tannoy message inviting Pete Somebody–or–other to return home immediately as his wife had just given birth. Oh how we loved that one. Lots of sardonic cheering for poor Pete.

You could happily imagine his thoughts as he made his sweaty exit. "I am dead meat. I am dead meat. I am dead meat. Where's the bloody car gone?'' Splendid stuff.

In all my years of football-watching, however, I don't believe I have encountered announcements quite as splendid as the ones made at last Saturday's Nationwide Conference match between Woking and Yeovil Town.

Our man at the mike was operating from a little booth behind the press seats, and the tone of his address had the throwaway diffidence of Dad's Army's Sergeant Wilson.

"Would the owner of a black Ford Mondeo, registration number T431 YJC, please return to their vehicle in the car park as they have left their lights on and the battery is running down as we speak...''

The first appeal clearly brought no response, so a few minutes later he tried again: "The owner of the Ford Mondeo, registration number T431 YJC, needs to return to their car very quickly. The lights are still on, and that battery is going to get awfully run down...''

The on-going predicament of the Mondeo owner clearly troubled our announcer, but soon he had more pressing information to share concerning a different problem. Addressing the green-and-white clad Yeovil fans who occupied one whole length of terracing along the pitch, he spelled the situation out. "Hello, you Yeovil fans over on the far side there, I've just heard that there are another 400 of you arriving who have been delayed on their journey – well, that's what you get for trusting South West Trains! – that's another 400 Yeovil fans who are making their way to the ground right now, so would you all mind moving up a bit to allow the latecomers some space to ... that's it, just move along a bit everyone towards the main stand, so that... the others... thanks so much... thank you...''

Can you imagine how stern he was about not running on to the pitch at full time? But the odd thing was, nobody did anyway. Probably didn't want to hurt his feelings.