DAMN! Those robots, designed to take on the more mundane tasks in St Aldate’s Post Office, were for a brief moment standing customer-less.

I tried to ignore them and joined the long queue that would eventually lead to attention from a flesh-and-blood clerk.

But I hadn’t counted on Steve. Smiling broadly, he was there to encourage computer-unfriendly folk like me to use the time-saving equipment and so relieve pressure on the counter staff.

“I’ve only got this one letter,” I said, hoping this would divert his attention to those with a mountain of envelopes and parcels to post. But it didn’t.

“This will save your time,” he declared cheerfully. Steve promised to guide me through the ordeal. Thirty seconds saw the letter measured, weighed, priced, stamped and in the post box. He was as good as his word.

I thanked Steve most heartily and we exchanged seasonal compliments before going our different ways – he to help another nervous customer, me to gloat on my success, while spreading the gospel on the once-dreaded robots. It had been a ‘Road to Damascus’ style conversion.

Later I returned to the Post Office to send another letter, this time a card in return for the one I had unexpectedly received earlier in the day from the wilds of Cumbria.

The robot was dealing with an elderly woman who was showing neither fear nor apprehension. Behind her, a young man who confessed this system was new to him.

“Oh it’s simplicity itself,” I said airily. “I’ll show you.”

Is there anyone more zealous than a convert?

THE approach of Christmas allowed me to wear something bright as well as warm – a tailored red woollen jacket and a pure silk tie (its colour described by experts as fuchsia), and a restrained striped shirt that enhanced the brighter colours.

Several people, most of them strangers, congratulated me on my festive choices. I’ve never considered myself a fashion icon, so I glowed with pride.

One woman, circa 40 years old, immaculately dressed, carefully made up, her hairstyle a work of art and smiling broadly, stood in my path.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I do so admire your tie,” she said.

I thanked her.

“Could you tell me where you bought it?” she asked.

“It was from a small shop in the main shopping street of Kathmandu,” I replied.

Her demeanour changed. The smile faded.

“That’s too far to go for a tie,” she said coldly before striding into the Clarendon Centre.

Did she think I was being facetious? I hope not, because it’s true.

Ah well... Happy Christmas, everyone.