Financial institutions understand queues. If we are tutting about the people scratching their arses in front of us at the bank, we'll be too irritated to notice the dodgy charges on our statements. Have you ever seen a person break into a half-trot as they see you approach an ATM machine? (It's a kleptomaniac-like way of balancing the scales: I hate my life, I have a boring husband, so I'll get there first if it kills me." It's nothing to do with you or the ATM. ) On a plane, I walked toward the toilet. Two heads popped over the seats like frightened geese. I was a sign that the turbulence was over. I quickened my step, but they hopped out of their seats and beat me to it, followed by a third passenger. I was forced to queue. Crappy nightclubs manufacture queues. I once queued for over an hour outside The George because it was Christmas and my friends were inside. Likewise, sweaty Samsara tried to make me queue for effect. I laughed in the bouncer's face and had a pint in Kehoe's instead.

The Iceland supermarket effect has drifted to the frozen produce sections of other supermarkets. They have five tills, but use one. The staff pretends not to notice, but they get a frisson. It's a petulant passiveaggressive act that says, I may be working until 8pm, but you, your bottle of Merlot and your rocket salad can wait."