Jonny McCambridge: My laptop asks me to prove I'm not a robot. It does not go well

While I had always had access to electronic devices personally and professionally, this was different because it was purchased with a specific intent.

This was to be the vessel through which I would compose the next great novel; a towering artistic achievement which I supposed would change my life and, in my more immodest moments, the lives of everyone else.

The laptop has been in use since and, not unlike myself, is showing its age. The markings of the letters of many of the keys have faded and it is only muscle memory which ensures that my fingers continue tapping in a way which produces coherent thoughts rather than gibberish.

The shift key on the left side of the keyboard has stopped working and I have had to retrain my brain to use the shift key on the right.

Countless words have been produced on the laptop. While the imagined literary success has eluded me, I did use it to write a book which was published and sold in modest numbers. Somewhere buried in its memory, undisturbed for years, are two unpublished novels and a third unfinished one.

For a period of time, when my son was an infant, I also used the laptop to run a blog about parenting and mental health. The relative novelty of a man writing about these two subjects ensured I attracted some attention from more mainstream media.

When I was enjoying my 15 minutes of fame I was contacted by a company which described me as an 'influencer' and offered a small sum of money if I would write in positive terms about its product. Rather bemused by this, I politely declined.

More recently, the pace of work has slowed for the laptop. Perhaps this befits its age. I have a more modern device which is owned by the company I now work for. The faithful older model is now called into action just once a week when I write this column.

By a rough calculation I've been doing this for about five and a half years. Apart from one short period when, like a Premier League striker who has played a run of games without scoring, I was 'rested', I've endeavoured to produce a gripping yarn every week. That means there have been more than 250 columns - each one composed on the tired laptop.

There is no reason why this week should be any different. It is not unusual that, as I begin the process of (ahem) creativity, I have no particular idea in mind and don't know where the subject will land.

Often I open the device and start to tap in random thoughts before something lucid forms. Often, as now, this is a slow and strained process.

I am going nowhere fast so I click open my personal email account to see if I've received any correspondence other than the usual barrage of junk.

It is only now I notice the little box in the top corner of the screen which contains the words 'Login Failed'. No fresh emails have come through for several days.

I click on the box and am redirected to a window which begins the process of re-entering details to gain access to my account. I grumble inwardly because I know this will involve having to remember a password set many years ago.

This is the way the world is, it will take time but I've overcome it multiple times before and am confident I'll be able to again.

But an unexpected hurdle appears in my path before I've even got that far. A window opens asking me to tick a box proving that I am not a robot. I am slightly offended but comply.

It seems that my word is not trusted as good because another window opens containing a grid of photographs. This one contains the message 'Select all images with a crosswalk'.

I leave aside my instinctive distaste at the Americanisation of the language and click on the relevant boxes confidently before hitting the verify button. A new message tells me I have failed the task.

I scan over the images and notice something is not right. In the places where zebra crossings were before, now there are none. Crossings now habituate squares which previously contained only road. I am sure of it and exclaim 'But that's not fair!' even though there is nobody else in the room.

I am given a second chance. Now I have to identify fire hydrants. I pay closer attention this time and my suspicions are confirmed. Whenever I tick on a box, its content alters. I have to refresh my choices several times before submitting my answers. Again I fail.

A third attempt asks me to find traffic lights. There are again, multiple moving squares. I am in an agitated state now. Should I tick the box which contains part of the pole, but not the coloured lights? What would a human being, as opposed to a robot, do?

I click the verify button again and my hopes are raised for the briefest of moments before a new message appears.

'Too many attempts. The response was entered incorrectly too many times.'

Now I am locked out of my account and am told I will have to try again on a different day.

My initial thought is outrage, that I have been cheated, but it soon gives way to something more morose. This is basic stuff. I am not a hacker trying to gain access to The Pentagon's IT defence systems, merely a bemused middle-aged man trying to read my emails. And I have failed miserably.

It seems to me that there are two conclusions.

1. Like a character from the movie Blade Runner, I actually am a robot but have not previously been aware of it.

2. I am an idiot.

Neither option appeals. I find it hard to sleep this night, but I do not count sheep, electric or otherwise.