"You've been dreaming," said blond athletic man from Hassocks, as I tried to retreat into the collar of my jacket.

"And shouting at the poor bloke who just got off the train that he'd die if he opened the door ..."

This bit unfortunately was not a dream but the rude awakening at the end of what had been a rather disturbing dream I'd been having after dropping off while travelling home one evening.

In dream, man was getting off portion of train which had not reached platform and therefore would land on live rails.

So I had shouted at him not to get off as he would die.

Unfortunately, by this time, I was in that state between waking and sleeping, when dream and reality are a bit blurred and was really shouting at man who was getting off onto perfectly concreted platform at Haywards Heath.

To make matters worse, whole episode (me nodding off, sleeping with mouth open, stirring agitatedly in sleep and then shouting at aforementioned poor bloke) was all witnessed by blond athletic man from Hassocks, who was sitting across aisle from me and in front of whom I had been desperately trying not to fall asleep (lest he see me at my mouth-open, dribbling, snoring worst).

"What were you dreaming about?" asked Hassocks. "Were you protecting an SAS officer, who was unwittingly walking through a booby-trapped door in the caves of northern Afghanistan?"

"Not exactly," I said, wishing I had been as this seemed a better dream to have been shouting during than one which was simply about being on a train - which I was.

Hassocks got off at Hassocks shortly afterwards and I carried on to Brighton where I went to bed very early, determined not to let myself fall asleep on train again and have Hassocks witness me making sleeping fool of self.

Plan worked.

In the morning I arrived at station, feeling refreshed and alert and managed to read and hold sparkling conversation with friend Sarah all the way to London.

Efforts to stay awake rather wasted as blond athletic man from Hassocks was not seen on same train - but never mind.

I appeared to have cracked the sleepy bug which had beset me for past week anyway.

Editor at work appeared to be feeling as lively as self and decided that features team and she would all go out for lunch, during which fair amount of alcohol consumed which had effect of making me a) very funny and amusing and b) very, very sleepy - so sleepy in fact that when I got on the train to go home I could feel my head drooping and knew it was going to take a huge effort on my part to stop myself dropping off before the train had even left Victoria.

Unfortunately, I couldn't bring myself to make the effort and was asleep and dreaming, with my head apparently, (I discovered this afterwards), lolling towards the empty seat beside me.

The empty seat was filled, not long after I fell asleep, however, and in my worst nightmare scenario it would be filled by blond athletic man from Hassocks.

I, however, was blissfully unaware of this and in my alcohol-induced sleepy stupor was happily dreaming (again not very imaginatively) of being asleep in a big comfy bed, piled with pillows, against which I was able to prop my lolling head and settle into a contented slumber.

When I woke, I discovered not only blond athletic man from Hassocks in the vacant seat but that the big comfy pillow of my dreams was in fact his shoulder ...