Your typical grown-up spends the equivalent of nearly 23 working days every year just hanging around in queues.

Those who've had the pleasure of a whole New Year's weekend waiting to be served in pubs, battling to board public transport or visiting the Millennium Dome, may already feel they've surpassed their queuing quota for 2000.

In the Dome alone some visitors claim to have stood for two hours to see the popular Body Zone.

Although organisers refute these complaints, they admit a ticketing mistake left some VIPs stranded at local rail stations for two-and-a-half hours on millennium eve.

Brits like to think we have a reputation for queuing stoicism and etiquette, flattering ourselves we are in the same league as the hardy Russians.

Historically, we haven't particularly enjoyed waiting in line, but we've jolly well lumped it and liked it.

E-cyclopedia last considered this issue in the summer when thousands of frustrated holiday makers queued for hours in a bid get their passports on time.

Suffering in silence is generally the norm - although severe muttering awaits transgressors of the queuing code.

Professor of consumer behaviour at Kingston Business School, Dr Robert East, said British people have a long civic history, which may account for our deeply instilled tendency to form orderly lines.

He said: "We certainly do have that reputation, but I am not so sure that we warrant it so much any more.

"Things are changing - there was a time when people would form queues for London buses, now they just surge forward and it's every man for himself as the bus arrives."

Which is true enough, but the French and Spanish have been doing that for decades.

According to Dr East, there is a "pleasure" factor at play in queuing behaviour.

"Queuing is like any other of society's rules. People observe the queue because they know the rules, they know what kind of behaviour is expected of them to maintain order," he said.

"Generally, anyone who pushes into a queue will receive some form of rebuke from the person they have pushed in front of.

"There is a general accepted attitude that the more onerous a situation is, the faster you want to get out of it, so the more likely you are to stick by the rules which will maintain the order needed to get you out fast."

Providers of entertainment, like the Dome, realise the queue's potential to kill joy and attract criticism.

Around 20 troupes of entertainers have been engaged to roam the Dome and distract peeved punters.

But we also have an uncanny affection for certain types of queuing.

The happy camaraderie enjoyed by participants in the Harrods sale queue might well stem from the outright eccentricity required to sleep on a London pavement in midwinter, out of choice.

But the queue as a fond tradition is more than slightly perverse. We have occasions where the wait to get in is as celebrated as the event itself.

Waiting for three days to watch mixed doubles on court 14 at Wimbledon would probably be a certifiable act in some cultures.

Self-selection, explains Dr East, is the process whereby a large group of people with similar interests chose to associate with one another.

So several hundred Star Wars fans, all with the common objective of buying Phantom Menace tickets, are tied together by a powerful bond. They enjoy the queue as an opportunity to revel in their hobbies and interests.

For Britons languishing at the Dome - who don't like jugglers - there seems little option but to compare the stiffness of their buttoned, upper lips.

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