Apparently the item at the top of Frank Rijkaard’s agenda last night, when he stormed out to the centre circle to stage an impromptu post-match de-briefing with the referee, was stoppage time. The Barcelona coach couldn’t see where the official had got those six extra minutes from.

I had an issue with the stoppage time, too. How come the referee only played five of the announced six minutes? We would probably have scored a winner in that last minute.

As it was, we had to settle for an equaliser, and a point for an away performance that looked like a home performance and deserved three. But that’s OK. We’ll swallow our natural disappointment and take that, I think, what with already being top of the group and everything.

In the event, as Didier Drogba blissfully controlled John Terry’s smart header, the clock showed 92 minutes. I don’t think Rijkaard could have any quibble with that, really.

When a team spends as much time lying on the ground as Barcelona do, the referee is surely duty-bound to tack on a few extra moments here and there, if only in the interests of value for money for the paying public.

One couldn’t help but notice that Rijkaard’s stroppy stomp in the direction of the ref was miraculously unimpeded by stewards. Now, there’s a thing.

Our coaching staff and subs tumble harmlessly into the technical area in celebration of the Drog’s point-clincher and someone in an orange Puffa jacket sniffs the end of civilisation and comes bouncing in.

Barcelona’s coach steams 25 yards into the playing area with smoke coming out of his nostrils and the only person with half a mind to stop him is Carles Puyol.

Truly Rijkaard is a blessed man in his own home.