The vaguely familiar minor MP was obviously so taken with the idea of another blustery weekend by the sea that he had stayed on after the conference.

He was returning to London only just in time for parliamentary recall.

The trouble was, the vaguely familiar minor backbencher's ticket was no longer valid and the conductor was busy trying to persuade him that he needed to buy another one or was in danger of being reported to the powers that be.

"This ticket was only valid for five days," explained the conductor, patiently. "If you'd travelled back to London before the weekend, it would still have been valid. But now you need another one . . ."

He started pressing the buttons on his ticket dispensing machine and informed him as he was now travelling at peak time, the ticket would cost a small fortune.

"So if you buy this ticket now, we can leave it at that," he finished, implying that if he didn't buy the ticket he would be left with no choice but to take the matter further.

But the vaguely familiar MP foolishly resorted to the defence of assumed celebrity which, as nobody was quite sure who he was, was not a good idea.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, in somewhat lofty tones.

"I don't care who you are," replied the conductor. "All I know is your ticket's not valid."

"But," persisted whoever he was. "Don't you know who I am?"

"I don't care if you're the Queen of Sheba or Cherie Blair, you still need to buy another ticket." He was beginning to get annoyed.

"But do you KNOW who I am?" persisted whoever he was, trying to shame the conductor into admitting that he didn't and get him off his case.

"I've no idea," said conductor, not at all ashamed and turned to the rest of the carriage. "Does anybody know who this bloke is?"

We all had a good look and began to discuss the matter. There was general carriage agreement that he might be some sort of politician but we couldn't say for sure.

"You any idea?" said the conductor, pointing his finger at me.

"Oh . . . well . . ." I stuttered. "He might be an MP or a trade unionist or someone like that but I couldn't be absolutely certain."

"No name then?"

"No, sorry . . ." I mumbled, the whole thing brought back uncomfortable memories of job interview I'd had for proper job on proper respectable paper, during the course of which I'd failed to recognise George Bush senior and even gone so far as to say that I'd never seen him before in my life, even though at that time he was the most powerful man in the Western world. "I've no idea."

"Well, nobody seems to be able to help here," said conductor turning to the man with the mystery ID. "Are you going to buy a ticket? Or shall we keep on with the guessing game?"

"Really, this is preposterous," said the minor whoever he was, who really should have quit while he was ahead. "It's not as if I'm travelling without a ticket."

At this point, it would have been wise for him to dig deep in his wallet and stump up the outrageously high cost of a one-way single to London at 7.15am but he couldn't resist one last: "Don't you know who I am?" in response to which the conductor got out his mobile phone and began dialling.

"Hello," he said, speaking to someone on the other end. "We've got a bit of problem in carriage H. There's a chap here who doesn't seem to know who he is . . ."