Remember to get the early train tonight - it's blondes night," I heard Gary say to his friend Tim.

Gary is a young, fairly newish commuter, who recently moved to Brighton after selling his Hackney flat for a million pounds.

"Fantastic," replied Tim. "I should be able to get away in time to get the five o'clock."

At first I thought they'd said Bond night and presumed they were talking about some satellite or cable TV extravaganza which, owning a television that can only just about tune into four channels (it has problems with ITV and was probably secretly tuned by my parents who have an aversion to commercial channels), I would not be able to see.

But as their conversation went on, I realised they were talking not about Bond but blondes.

"There were about eight of them last week. Really friendly they were. I had this great conversation with one of them. I hope she's there again this week..." enthused Gary.

"I missed most of them last week. We had a launch meeting and I didn't get back till late," moaned Tim. "So, I'll definitely try to get there early this week."

And then it dawned on me that the blondes, about which they were talking were not friends, TV characters or hostesses at some lap-dancing club - which I wouldn't put past Gary and Tim to be members of - but the girls who have been handing out copies of a new property magazine on the station concourse for the past few weeks.

Never been entirely sure where they get these blondes from. But you can be sure if there is something to be handed out on station concourses, then there are blondes in T-shirts ready to hand it out.

"Have you not made any friends in Brighton yet then?" I said to Tim. I mean, if being handed a magazine by a woman with bleached hair is the highlight of his social life he should seriously consider moving back to Hackney.

"She's just jealous," said Gary and they both ignored me and continued discussing the various merits of the various blondes.

I didn't see either of them on the train in the evening but they'd already reached Brighton by the time I did and there they were deep in conversation (though I doubt if the conversation had any depth to it) with one of the blondes, who was concentrating more on chatting to these two desperadoes than the job in hand.

"So what time do you finish tonight then?" Tim was saying as I approached.

"Because we're just going for a drink in the pub across the road if you fancy joining us," said Gary.

"Your friends can come too," said Tim.

"Oh yes. Definitely bring your friends," said Gary, eyeing the rest of the blondes.

"Does the invitation extend to me?" I said taking a magazine, which the blonde on whom they were concentrating most of their efforts was proffering.

"Though actually I'm meeting some friends tonight..."

"That's a shame," said Gary, adding to my departing back, "It must get to her, having to write for a magazine. I guess that's what happens to all the women who aren't good looking enough to hand them out..."