…I’m certain it’s part of the British DNA, or even more, specifically, the English DNA… queuing up… I posted recently my near-starting-the-Third-World-War incident for calling out a queue-jumper in the local bank the other day… pile that on top of the brainless nutters who either can’t read nor count at the ’10-items-or-less-and-cash-only’ checkouts at yer neighbourhood supermarkets… and yeez’ll get the sense that I subscribe to the ‘thou-shalt-not-cut-into-the line’ Law of Behaviour… some years ago, as a raw trainee banker, I lived in a boarding house in London, along with about half a dozen other wannabee Financial Masters of the Universe … part of the apprenticeship seemed to be the group excursions on Friday evenings to the pub… replacing any sort of sensibility and operational brain cells with alcohol… the influence of the electric soup was extraordinary… on occasions it led to a communal belief that a series of Garden…