Surprised to see Frank Dobson manning the barricades at Brighton Station.

Or rather, since the barricades are automatically manned, he was standing in huddle with other previously occupied ticket inspectors passing the time of day.

New barriers obviously very popular with Connex staff, since it gives them plenty of time to catch up on gossip in groups, instead of having to stand in pairs taking tickets.

But, having been relieved of ticket checking duties on platforms, many appear to have been given extra ticket checking duties on trains - which is becoming increasing source of frustration to self and other commuters, especially infrequent travelling friend Peter.

Peter runs big artists' management agency, managing big TV names, none of whom would ever entertain the idea of getting from A to B on something as mundane as a train or tube.

Peter also prefers to be driven about his business and, on the rare occasions when he joins the little people, for whom commuting is part of their dull little daily routine, the little day-to-day problems with the system seem to frustrate him ten times more than anyone else.

This morning bumped into Peter on the concourse at Brighton station. He responded to my friendly and welcoming: "Good Morning!" with a cheery "Bloody driver's taken the day off. His kid is having chemotherapy or something. Great nuisance having to get the train."

As we made our way towards the automatic ticket barriers, Peter began cursing because having bought his ticket he'd stashed it safely at the bottom of his briefcase and now had to go to the trouble of getting it out.

Normally, he would have simply breezed past the pair of ticket inspectors with a look which said: "Of course I've got a ticket, but it's in my pocket and don't dare inconvenience me by making me get it out." But with the barriers that's no longer possible.

Once on board the train he began making phone calls, mostly to the effect: "I'm on a train because the bloody driver's taken his sick child for treatment," but was interrupted in the course of this important business, several times by the ticket inspector.

Inspector appeared to be Frank Dobson, though dressed in the flattering blue and yellow regalia of a Connex employee.

Even Peter who, mixing with the rich and famous as he does, does not usually even bother to register the existence of those whose jobs are entirely peripheral to his world, did a bit of a "is this what you get palmed off with if you don't get to be mayor" double take.

And them, turning to me with his agent's hat on: "That man is the splitting image of Frank Dobson. He could probably get work as his double - might be able to put him in touch with some people..."

However, Frank's chances of cashing in on his uncanny resemblance to Mr Dobson were blown by his ticket inspecting zeal.

Because, having put his ticket through the barrier at Brighton and then shown it to Dobbo just outside Hassocks, Peter was not going to get it out again when he did another round of checks after East Croydon.

"You've already seen it," he told Frank.

"I don't remember all the faces of all the customers," said Frank coolly. "So, if I could see it again please?"

"Why do you need to check it twice on the train. You know I can't get on and off without going through the barriers at the station?" demanded a heated Peter.

"I have my orders," countered Frank, displaying signs that showed his position was not dissimilar to his lookalike.

"It's not my job to question them. I simply do as I'm told. However unpopular that might make me."