I’VE spent most of this week either in queues or avoiding them. And with the exception of just one, none were worthy of the wait. It started on Monday when I queued to see Riverdance at the New Theatre in Oxford, and, I kid you not, if Hitler had risen from the dead, only to appear in an ABBA tribute band, I don’t think the queue snaking down George Street could have been any longer.

Plus, surrounded by an army of over-excited six-year-old girls and their mothers, I was wary. After all, ‘Euro-visiony’ and ‘Oir-ish’ is what I was expecting (and dreading). But, on this occasion at least, I was saved from those twin horrors.

Indeed, the whole way home, I wondered why my parents hadn’t had the foresight to enrol me in Irish dancing lessons (hell, it could have been me up there on stage...).

Anyway, come Tuesday, and still enjoying something of a Gaelic rush, I found myself in two more queues.

The first was at Sainsbury’s in the Westgate shopping centre, where, ever since Christmas, queueing times have grown on average by at least 20 minutes (and that’s on a good day, at 10am) Then it was at the Old Fire Station, again in George Street, for a performance by the Oxford Revue – a sketch comedy group featuring students from Oxford University.

Former members have apparently included Rowan Atkinson and Michael Palin, but sadly not on this occasion (if only).

In truth, I guess it wasn’t that bad – despite not being remotely funny.

But what really ruined it for me was the audience member who insisted on laughing constantly, even when the actors weren’t on stage.

I mean, seriously, the performers had only to breathe and there it was – a category six hurricane of giggling guffaws that, as hurricanes are prone to do, burst eardrums and left one feeling battered and bruised (suffice to say, I exited stage right during the interval and hung out at Gloucester Green bus station, which always makes me laugh).

On Wednesday, I was forced to queue at about the only post office still left in Oxfordshire – the one in St Aldate’s.

Now, I don’t know if it’s me, but the queues here are long enough to register climate change. And, if that was not bad enough, it’s also the most menacing queue in the county.

Every single time I wait patiently in line there, I expect to be mugged, assaulted or drawn into a shouting match between men and women ‘effing and blinding’ over who should wait outside with their pit bull.

Little surprise then that after this ordeal I should seek solace at the bottom of a coffee cup.

Starbucks in Cornmarket may well attract the barista buffs, but for my money, if you want to enjoy a caffeine rush without the standard 15 minute wait, as well as all that ‘authentic’ barista hollering – “that’s a skinny double half-decaff latte with extra foam” – try the Town Hall cafe in St Aldate’s (opposite the post office). No queues, no overdraft required if buying for more than two, and no pretentious Fairtrade drinkers.

And finally, my week ended with a queue at, predictably enough, Oxford train station where, having queued for 20 minutes, I was then informed I couldn’t be helped, and would have to queue all over again.

But hey, like thousands of others train users, at least I’m used to that.