I have to renew my car tax, it must be about a year since I last had to do this. I had all the documentation ready and the only thing that stood between me and that small purple disc were about 20 other people.

There was one nice mother who was letting her little ray of sunshine of a child run up and down the post office queue while making a noise that resembled Quint's finger nails down the blackboard from Jaws.

He then unfortunately slipped on a stray Rod Fishing license renewal form and cracked his head on the floor. The entire queue including his mother try not to laugh.

I'm getting near the front and there's a steady procession of people walking up to the cashier.

"Do you have form F451 completed in triplicate and signed by all of your grandparents?" she'd say.
"No" came the reply as they trudged off to exhume Granny.

And then blind panic strikes me.
My heartbeat quickens and my palms moisten.
The log-book I am clutching is slowly becoming moist and wave-y.
I have been holding my money so tight that the colour on the twenty pound notes is running. I knew I should have left them on the printer for longer.

Insurance?!?! Where's my insurance details? I spend a life time flapping and floundering, trying to find my insurance. I look like an extra from the original Captain Scarlet. Arms and legs flailing everywhere.

5 seconds later I find it in the same pocket I put it in ten minutes ago.

The cashier looks up and smiles at me and I head towards the counter.

The stress is too much, what if I've forgotten something? My legs become jelly and I collapse. As soon as I hit the floor I get trampled over by the pensioner who is desperate to get his latest government hand out and drive off to the bookies on his little blue scooter.