Some things seem to be same the world over. One of these is undoubtedly the Post Office.

Normally, my excursions into French Post Offices are pretty painless because the majority of them have self service machines for dispensing stamps and also for weighing / pricing small packages or letters that need to be sent abroad. That just about covers my usual reasons for having to visit ‘Le Post’.

Last week though we had some registered mail that the postie tried to deliver. Both Darling Wife and myself were out, and so we had a small slip left in the letter box instructing us to go the post office to collect it.

I have to confess, that I can’t remember what the drill is in the UK, but I thought you get 2 or three chances before the letter gets returned to the post office – anyway here in France it’s ‘One strike and you’re out’.

So I duly presented myself at the post office. I was appalled to see that just like the UK, there was a queue of about 20 people. Worse (or, depending on your point of view, better) there were quite a few chairs provided for the punters. So obviously queues are pretty much the norm.

There were 4 windows open, and despite the queue I was hopeful that things might move along reasonably quickly. Alas, it was not too be.

Window 1 was occupied by a chap who was posting over a 100 parcels. I kid you not. He had an accomplice who was ferrying parcels in an out. All the time I was in the building, this guy was at this window posting his seemingly unending supply of boxes.

Window 2 was occupied by an old lady who was talking animatedly to the person behind the counter. I have no idea what they were talking about, but as with the guy at the first window, they were still at it when I left!

The person behind Window 3 seemed to be the sort of jobsworth that you meet now and again who’s only aim in life is make everyone else’s life hell. It seemed that everyone who went to this window had not completed the correct paperwork or whatever. Just about everyone got turned away and had to fill out a form, or do something extra. Even people who just seemed to posting letters, were subjected to a lengthy interrogation.

Window 4 on the other hand was manned by a scruffy individual who was the exact opposite of his colleague at Window 3. Maybe he was on drugs or something, but he was all go. Arms were waived, papers were stamped and there was generally an air of frightening efficiency about him.

It was this guy who provided the real reason for this post. One of the customers wanted to post 3 bottles of wine. The young guy behind the counter produced a large piece of preformed cardboard. With a few deft moves, he had turned the cardboard into a ready made container for 3 wine bottles. It was like something off of Blue Peter! The wine bottles were fitted snugly in box and hey presto – sorted.

I suppose if there is any county in the world that would have preformed cardboard wine bottle containers, then it would be France. Even so, I have to admit to being very impressed by it all.

It’s all very easy to criticise French shop assistants for being rude and unhelpful, and of course not all of them are. However some of them are very rude. Until today, I’d never considered that the reason for this might be that because they spend all day dealing with the French public. Yes, I know that’s not a very fair comment, but the following will illustrate my point of view.

I was in a supermarket earlier this afternoon. As per usual in the quieter hours, there was only one person working the tills. The queue wasn’t too big and things were going smoothly until it came to the turn of the lady who was two places in front of me in the queue.

She wanted to pay by credit card and her shopping only came to a total of 11 euros or so. The shop has a policy of a minimum of 15 euros for credit card payments, so the miserable middle-aged lady on the till, gave a very firm ‘Non’. After some explaining, the customer decided to go and get something else to boost her total over the 15 euros mark. Off she went into the depths of the store.

After a few minutes, the guy in front of me began asking the check out lady to abandon the first customer’s transaction. He too got a very firm ‘Non’.

Anyway, after what seemed an age, the first lady came back clutching two packs of yoghurts. She then proceeded to pull out a money off coupon for them. It then transpired that the price of the yoghurts after the discount, was not enough to go over the magic 15 euros mark. After some spirited discussions, the lady finally accepted that she had to buy something else if she wanted to use her credit card.

So, did she buy a packet of chewing gum? or a bar of chocolate? or even a TV listing magazine, all of which were invitingly on display at the check out. No, you guessed it - she again disappeared into the back of the store.

This was all too much for the chap in front of me, and he started abusing the till lady in a fine manner. While he was in full flow, the lady came back clutching another pack of yoghurts. The man then started in on her too. There was a fine old row developing. In fact I was beginning to wonder if Jeremy Beadle was going to jump out in a minute.

And then, hallelujah, praise the lord, another check out lady materialised from nowhere and opened a second till. Employing some nifty footwork and surreptitious elbow or too, I managed to beat everyone else to the front of that queue. I gratefully paid and made my escape. As I looked over my shoulder the altercation was still going on over at the first till.

The French? Don’t you just love ‘em?

I have spent most of the year travelling, and haven't had the time or the inclination to blog. I am away next week too, but I have a couple of things to complain about before I go!