"I wouldn't give her whisky with anything," said blond athletic man from Hassocks to Howard the buffet trolley man.

He hadn't been asked to contribute to the exchange, in which I was trying to purchase a cup of tea and Howard was making it. He just said it to make me feel worse than I already was.

Already feeling bad, having been to barbecue near Lewes the day before which happened to be Sunday afternoon.

So, had expected to be back home and ready for bed earlyish and soberish - rather than very late and a little the worse for wear.

Spent much of the afternoon listening to man give vent to his feelings about barbecues - similar to William Hague's feelings towards the single European currency.

"It's always the same thing. Sausages, burgers, chicken, burnt to a cinder and served in stale rolls with bits of tomato and cucumber."

He was not remotely interested in my argument that barbecues fulfil a basic need in man to get back to his Stone Age roots by building a fire and roasting chunks of meat on it, even if he hadn't strictly gone out and killed something and stripped the meat from it with his bare hands first.

"It would make them a bit more interesting if he had," he said, making me wonder why, if he disliked barbecues so much, he had come.

He went on to describe another barbecue he had been to the week before, where some perfectly good steak had been turned to inedible charcoal which everyone had then proclaimed delicious.

Effect of his conversation was to make me drink more than I had intended and eat less than I'd intended. So by the time it seemed about time to leave (or rather was offered lift home) I felt a little wobbly, but very, very funny indeed. Which is when blond athletic man from Hassocks turned up.

Never having come across him anywhere other than on the train before and never having exchanged more than a few odd words about trackside fires and the like, this was my perfect chance for a proper introduction and proper chat - or at least the chance to learn his name. A chance which I unfortunately blew.

"Hello Hassocks," I found myself saying loudly but got no further as my lift pulled me into a car and drove me home.

I thought no more about it (or about anything really) until the next morning when I was on the train to work (a bit late) and Howard the buffet trolley man rolled up. Howard is a credit to his job.

A couple of weeks ago I was the only person in the carriage, except for another buffet trolley man who refused to serve me because "the trolley was not functional".

Thinking this meant he hadn't got water for tea or coffee or whatever, I tried to buy a cola but he persisted in staring at the floor and muttering that the trolley was not functional until I gave up.

Howard however will do anything for anyone (as long as it's within the realms of serving tea and coffee) and always has a smile and a joke to serve up with your coffee and Kit Kat.

If you ask for a can of lager, for example, Howard will ask if you want an ice cold can or one that's been roasting in the sun all day.

If you ask for a Mars bar, he'll ask if you want vegetarian or regular. And if you ask for a cup of tea in the morning, as I did, he asks if you want whisky with it.

"Whisky in tea?" I said, not sure if he was joking or not.

"It's very nice apparently," said Howard. Which is when Hassocks joined in . . .