I have had an interesting view of tourism in Brighton this week as a result of a story told to me by a friend.

She has been involved with booking a long weekend for a group of ladies who were all members of the University of the Third Age from another part of the country.

There were six in the party plus the driver of the mini-bus who, lucky man, was the only male.

They were booked into a central hotel in Brighton and had a number of outings prearranged both in the city and around Sussex.

Most of them had not been this way before and were looking forward to their trip. What they had not bargained on was that a close member of Basil Fawlty's family would be along for the experience.

They checked into the hotel and were very pleased with their accommodation and looked forward to their evening meal.

When they went in for dinner they went to two tables for four next to each other. As there were seven of them, that obviously meant one table of four and one of three.

Since they were all one party, they drew the two tables together so that they could have a civilised conversation without shouting across the great divide and twisting their necks into odd contortions.

Within seconds it became abundantly clear they had somehow managed to break a great unwritten law of the dining room which said: "Thou shalt not move a table for your own convenience or to make life more comfortable for your party."

The head waiter descended on them like the avenging angel of dear Basil Fawlty and said clients were not supposed to do such things and would they please return the furniture to its previous state.

They were not amused and declined to do so on the grounds they were one party and wanted to have a civilised conversation without the need for smoke signals.

There was much waving of the hands and and mutterings under the breath but they stuck to their guns and just hoped Manuel (Que?) was not the duty waiter that night.

As soon as they had finished their meal, the furniture removers moved in and restored the symmetry of the furniture.

They hoped the maitre d' had got the message and that, come breakfast, their two-table arrangement would be in operation ready for all of them to exchange happy greetings over the cornflakes.

But no, he was made of sterner stuff than that. Even as they moved the table and chairs into the required position he sailed in like the Spanish Armada and once again waved his arms like a manic windmill, cooling the very tea in their cups.

As they were going to be there for four days, it was becoming clear they were going to have to arrive very promptly for their meals and do the house moving before he realised what was going on.

It sounds like good fun and a laugh, and they took it in good part, but there was a sense of irritation underneath. After all, they were the guests and their request was not unreasonable. All they wanted was to sit as a party and put two tables together.

It was hard to see what the problem was from the hotel's point of view. To restore the status quo was a matter of moments. To restore the goodwill of the visitors would take longer simply because the whole thing was so petty and pointless.

This is a tourist city and visitors bring a lot of money to its coffers. It is not a good idea to have jobsworths in positions where they can irritate the punters.

Luckily, these ladies did not seem too annoyed by the episode and being Third Agers they took it all in their stride.

But it is clear Basil Fawlty is alive and well and living in Brighton and the ladies are used to eating jobsworths for breakfast.