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A survey last week revealed that 1 in 3 office workers would prefer that a colleague stayed at home, rather than struggle in and infect everyone else with their germs.

Boy, do I bet the co-workers of the guy I saw this morning think exactly that?

As the buzzer sounded on my train, the usual couple of last-minute interlopers squeezed through the closing doors, crushing even more those of us who had just about managed to find a square centimetre of room for ourselves.

One of them was a tall blond chap with a beard, carrying his mac in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The instant I saw him, I realised it was going to be an uncomfortable journey. He was sweating profusely, his hand was shaking, not quite uncontrollably, but enough to worry that I was in danger of minor burns from split coffee, and he immediately propped himself up against the door, looking as if he were ready to faint at any second.

As the journey continued (mercifully, I was on a fast train), he wiped his face three times to clear all the sweat, and looked as if he was about to be sick on several occasions.

All I could think, though, was why on earth are you even on the train?

He was clearly heading into work and his presumed dilemma made me realise how ridiculous it is that people who are obviously at death’s door still feel the need to punish themselves by hauling their bodies into the office, so they can undergo more stress, answer a few not-that-urgent emails and phone calls, and kid themselves into thinking they’re indispensable.

In Japan, people wear gas masks as a way of avoiding pollution. Perhaps, commuters in the UK could be given them to avoid the germs of those suffering with colds.

The newspapers have been filled with extracts and reviews of Russell Brand’s new book, an account of his time as a hardcore drug addict, before he cleaned himself up.

The most prominent one today was that he once introduced Kylie Minogue to his coke dealer, while he was working at MTV.

All very amusing and probably an entertaining read for a couple of pages, but I just wish Mr Brand would just disappear.

As you can tell, I’m not particularly enamoured of his sense of humour. It seems to me that he’s a one-trick pony, combining elements of Jonathan Ross and Kenneth Williams into his act, but unfortunately the worse parts of each.

I guess I don’t quite get his appeal. He talks a lot in flowery language wears skinny jeans and scarves and has apparently slept with lots of famous women. That aside, he doesn’t even seem to be that funny.

Maybe I’m getting old and just don’t appreciate ‘young’ humour any more. but surely I’m not the only person out there who thinks he’s a charlatan (to use Brand’s own flowery vocabulary).

I was sitting gazing out of my window this morning, when I saw a big white van draw up over the road bearing the sign Polish Building Supplies.

Yes, the Eastern Europeans have truly gained a foothold, in the South-east at least, when they have their very own building suppliers, selling Polish makes of screw, wood and tools, among other things.

Amazing as it may seem, all those friendly handymen from the likes of Warsaw, Krakow or Gdansk, don’t pop down to Wickes or Jewson to get their screwdrivers, 4×2 and jigsaws. They buy it from their very own Polish supplier.

Now, I could always understand why Polish delicatessen has become a big thing in the UK. The likes of pickled vegetables and pierogi are not popular in your local Sainsbury or Tesco, so it was only sensible for someone to start marketing it in areas where there is a high population of Poles.

But building supplies? Isn’t a screw a screw? Aren’t all types of Rawlplug, pickaxe or dowelling much of a muchness? Surely, even a Pole shouldn’t need to buy the specific variety of nail he’s used to, should he? It’s not as if they taste any different.