Boots, Cashpoint & Tube Station, London

Took a trip to our nation’s capital yesterday and was interested, after a previous visit, in seeing whether the Londoners had figured out yet how to use their new Taxi Rank. But it seemed the big skive is still on and there was not one taxi-dependent London type in sight. Instead just a queue of taxis.

I was on the Kings Road at lunch time and, as its not the type of place where you can find a Greggs, I instead went to Boots for a Meal Deal.

However, unlike other Boots where there’s always a fast moving queue, here on the Kings Road there were only a few people in the shop and the queue was barely noticeable.

The reason for this I found out when making my purchase, which was that a Meal Deal here in Chelsea costs £3.30; 31 pence more than other Boots across the country.

No wonder business was slow. Not even rich people can afford a 10% price hike like that.

Later on in the evening I met up with Alice and Charlotte, who queued together for a cashpoint.

Being young and carefree, they ignored the pressures of society and withdrew money quite openly in front of each other, without any attempt of concealing their pins.

At the end of the night they also queued together at the ticket machine in Oxford Street tube station.

And seemed to thoroughly enjoy the experience.

Oh, to be young.

Cabaret Voltaire, Edinburgh

We came to see Justice.

It was a very long queue. Slow moving and fast growing, after a few minutes we had not moved and yet we were halfway down the queue.

It took about half an hour until we reached the smokers who, because of Scotland’s non smoking laws, had to come outside for a cigarette.

There’s railings between us and them, and we looked on rather enviously at the cheerful lot who were ‘inside’ and yet actually on the outside in the cold having a fag and not wearing a coat.

Once in the club it made sense why all the smokers were so happy. Inside there was a queue to go outside and have a cigarette which, because of the small outside area, had a half hour wait.

As you can imagine, the queue of tipsy addicts waiting to go for a smoke looked furious, and yet once it was their turn to go outside they cheered up no end.

Smoking makes you fickle.

Showroom, Sheffield

Anna and Ken were soon to come but, even though we had time to spare, Paul and I decided to join the growing queue.

That’s the back of his head in the bottom left.

The Showroom has an utterly charming queueing area when you’re not in a hurry to catch the start of a film.

Lots of interesting leaflets on cultural things to do in and around Sheffield line the left hand side of the queue.

In front of us, a group of young ladies were enjoying a natter to pass the time.

Although I do wish she’d face the front.

One of the rules of a queue is that everyone faces the right direction otherwise you’re confronted with the face of a total stranger, which makes it hard to know where to look and it is quite uncomfortable for everyone.

Luckily, Anna and Ken soon arrived as a distraction.

We greeted each other and then Anna pointed out to Ken that there was a queue, which implied that they should join the back.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, as Anna and I normally save a place for each other in the queue. And so they stood with us till the front.

But of course, we should have worried about it. Whereas one queue jumper joining one solitary person in the queue at the cinema is perfectly acceptable. Two people joining two people is not.

It was a social blunder and by the time we reached the front of the queue I was hot with shame for making the two lovely ladies behind us wait longer than necessary.

Especially as paying together became too complicated, and so we all paid separately which took even more time.

And the worst thing about it was that the ladies’ behaviour was impeccable.

They neither sighed not tutted at the youth of today in front of them .

There they are, examples to us all, behind Anna and Ken who are at the front of the queue.

Metropolis @ The Plug, Sheffield

First stop, hole in the wall.

We all know each other, but apart from Gemma in pink who doesn’t need cash, the others have managed to form a casual but polite queue behind the cashpoint. Fantastic queuing etiquette which, I warn you, we will soon flagrantly disregard. Next stop, The Plug.

As is standard in most clubs now, there are two queues to get in.

The barricaded queue for the hoi polloi.

And the more relaxed guestlist queue.

Traditionally, your name on the guestlist would guarantee a swift entry. But these days the guestlist itself has become another slow moving queue, just not as long.

Those with the advantage are the ones who don’t have to queue and are let straight in. Like us. It’s the reward for strong networking skills or knowing someone with them; Gemma.

That’s her blurry figure on the left, mwah mwahing with a very tall man while the masses are herded in behind.

Unfortunately the cloakroom queue makes mere mortals of us all. It is impenetrable with preference given to no one.

Wokmania, Sheffield

No queue here and the hidden promise that there’ll never be one.

I like that the sign is put on a music stand, probably stolen from the propietor’s clarinet playing daughter.

Waiting is thought to be much quicker than queueing, regardless of the reality. There are very few restaurants who’ll ask you to queue as, unlike a bank, they are trying to win your custom by offering you a good service.

This does not mean that Wokmania is good. It is not. The difference is that it tries.

The Forum, Sheffield

Went to see Scott Matthews at The Forum last night. Troj wanted to get their early “in case there’s a queue to get in.”

Last time I was at The Forum was to see the Arctic Monkeys at one of their last gigs before being signed. It was ticket only with tickets having sold out earlier that day. Despite this, everyone who had bought a ticket had got there early just in case there was a queue, and so created a queue by trying to avoid one.

But we English know that it is a good idea to get in a queue early -just in case. I remember when Carl Kennedy of Neighbours fame was doing a little gig at the Walkabout. It was a free event but with names needed to be put on the guestlist beforehand.

Our names were down but we also turned up early (just to be sure), only to see a massive queue that was being refused entry. Apparently the police were unimpressed with such a large queue at six o’clock in the evening and had already forced the venue to let the front of the queue in until capacity, guestlist or not, leaving the rest of the queue stood on the pavement bewildered.

A fine case of the precedence given to the sacred queue. So ingrained is this into the English psyche, that there we were last night turning up to see Scott Matthews play at The Forum at half-past seven in the evening; two and a half hours early.

There is another half hour till The Forum opens, and it’s only a Wednesday, but there is a queue to get in.

That’s Troj on the left. Probably pleased that there’s a queue as it justifies dragging us all to The Forum early to see a relatively unknown.

Note the dispersed, scattered approach to the queue. This is a classic attempt of English people feigning indifference to the gig and the fact that we are all here far too early. Also note how everyone has considerately queued to the right so as not to block the pavement.

As soon as the doors opened though, the queue straightened and closed to such a rigidity that it was impossible for anyone to queue jump into a venue where it was most certain that all of us would be able to get in.

I was pretty much the last person in the initial queue, and the tickets handed out on entry were chronological.

Matthews was exceptionally good. Three thumbs up.