The day both ‘the Pope of Rome’ and Camilla’s big pal were barred from a football match in Belfast

Paul Mccartney and Elon Musk have also fallen foul of ‘jobsworths’

IT wasn’t the sort of bienvenue Maurice Hennessy was used to. Normally, Princess Anne would be one of those welcoming this scion of the world-renowned French drinks company to a ‘Hennessy Gold Cup’ event. But there he stood, getting a whiff of those legendary exterior bogs at Glentoran’s Oval football stadium and looking rather bemused.

A few minutes earlier, Monsieur Hennessy had stepped off a private jet at the Harbour Airport and boarded a limousine bound for nearby Mersey Street in east Belfast.

A fluent English speaker, he’d already explained to the doorman that he was “representing the sponsors” of that night’s Hennessy Gold Cup final between the Glens and Linfield.

The reply: “Look mister, I don’t care if you’re the Pope of Rome; ye’re nat gettin’ in wayout a ticket.”

Presumably GFC doormen were used to immaculately dressed, multi-lingual, vineyard-owning French aristocrats attempting to blag their way into an Irish League match and saw M. Hennessy coming a mile away.

Chances are, however, that this never happened at Newbury Racecourse on Hennessy Gold Cup day, when the sponsor’s gregarious global ambassador would sit with close pals Camilla Parker-bowles and Jilly Cooper, enjoying hot chocolates topped with salted caramel cream, Earl Grey tea cocktails infused with black cherry jam and — the pièce de résistance — a ‘Hennessy Horse’s Neck’, made with Fine de Cognac, ginger ale and orange zest.

I believe the Gold Cup sponsor was, eventually, permitted to see Les Coq et Poules beat Les Bleus that night.

His company — founded by entrepreneurial Cork native Richard Hennessy who upped sticks to the French commune of Cognac in the 1700s — withdrew their sponsorship, although that may have had more to do with lack of demand for their exceptional but rather pricey 15-year-aged VSOP tippler in Troubles-torn 1980s Northern Ireland — a place even “the Pope of Rome” steered clear of.

That awkward Oval incident came to mind last week when Boris Johnson — who, according to Yougov, is the 13th most instantly recognised person on the planet — was turned away from a council election polling station after failing to produce photo ID.

With typical Johnsonian irony, that was a stipulation of new legislation he himself introduced when PM.

In February, Jim Boyce — former Irish FA president, Fifa vice-president and one of the greatest football ambassadors our wee country has ever produced — was, unforgivingly in my view, turned away from a Windsor Park reception which was hosting First Ministers Michelle O’neill and Emma Little-pengelly.

Bojo and Boycie are in good company: ex-beatle Sir Paul Mccartney, the richest, best-known and most successful musician in history, was turned away from a post-grammy Awards party in LA’S Argyle Club, prompting the droll Liverpudlian to ask: “Christ, how big a celebrity do you have to be to get in there?”

Also, the title of ‘World’s Richest Man’ wasn’t enough credit in the bank for Elon Musk to enter Berlin’s Berghain nightspot without a pass.

A few years ago, at Luton Airport, I witnessed the late socialite Tara Palmer-tomkinson being informed she couldn’t board a flight to Belfast because she’d “no proper ID” available.

Ironically, this came just minutes after the same airline’s star-struck checkin crew had persuaded her to pose for pictures with them.

In desperation, Tara produced a copy of OK magazine — which featured her on the cover — but that too was refused.

To be fair, these ‘jobsworths’ were following the letter of their employer’s law — and when your boss says “no exceptions” it’s, erm, more than your job’s worth not to comply.

Problems arise, however, when there’s an obvious lack of common sense, or when the perceived entitlement displayed by the ticketless refuseniks is, ironically, taken up by the refusers themselves.

It could end up being a memorable tale you’ll tell your grandkids, but the repercussions are rarely positive.

Like when the late, great Northern Ireland goalkeeper and Munich Air Crash hero Harry Gregg forgot his official guest ticket to the Milk Cup finals night at Coleraine Showgrounds and was refused admission.

The Manchester United icon, a fervent supporter of the globally-respected junior football competition in his home town, simply walked away, never to return despite numerous apologetic pleas from the organisers.

I was well enough acquainted with Harry to know he wasn’t the sort of person you get a second chance with.

George Best could have vouched for that; as a cocky 16-year-old, the Belfast Boy once ‘nutmegged’ an ageing Harry during a Man U training session.

The upshot: “You may hail from my part of the world, kid, but try that again and I’ll break both your f***ing legs.”

You won’t be surprised to learn that Bestie never tried it again.

It was more than his job was worth.