Take your queue

England has been one of the world's greatest empires, and what does it have to show for itself? I'll tell you; it's the queue.

If you go by the numbers you'll find it's the most popular pastime in Alton Towers, England's largest theme park. Of the six hours spent in the park, about five and a half were spent as part of a giant human snake on the way to some or other ride. For the record, twenty minutes were spent at lunch, leaving about ten on the rides; something they don't exactly tell you on the brochures.

In fact most of your Alton Towers experience will be spent staring at the hairdo of the guy in front. The wrinkled lady with husband and two kids on the way to Oblivion sported a kitsch post-punk black and blonde number, and all I could do was think to myself if only I were that hip. My favourite of the day, however, was the ginger Goth with trademark black dyed hair and about two inches of orange regrowth. It was as if joy was sprouting from his body in defiance of his self-imposed gloom.

There were signs posted to remind patrons of the rules of the queue. It's quite unnecessary, queuing is quite the thing to do in Britain, and once you’ve spent any time in this country you resign yourself to it. On the way to the Electric Ballroom in Camden Town a few months ago a group of kids tried hustling into the middle of the line. They were initially met with dirty looks and a few sneers. "They've gone and pushed in!" said one lot of queuers. "Oh how rude!" another remarked and so on. But in the way of British sensibilities it took several minutes for anyone to actually confront these guys and tell them where to go.

Before Kiwis can make judgement, I'm constantly reminded that England is a different beast. At a tenth of the population, New Zealand can't scrabble enough souls together to form a decent queue. In New Zealand if you get more than a dozen folk waiting for something we call it a buzz. It’s a novelty. Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon on the other hand is a ten thousand person scrum.

I blame immigration. Everyone else does too. They complain about the Indians and Jamaicans, then of the Nigerians and Eastern Europeans and thanks to their recent entry into the EU, the Poles have invaded. I've heard this talk in every country I've lived in so it's a matter of winding up the cracked record yet again. Most of these complainers, like their counterparts in New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia, suffer from short term memory.

Where else would you go if you were a part of an empire settled by the pasty white guys from an Island nation, ruled by a foreign monarchy who has never bothered to visit? When your chips are down and for generations you've been told about the exploits of the glorious British Empire, is it any surprise that its overseas subjects are now flocking to the motherland?

So you get immigrants. Lots of 'em, heading to England in an Aesop's fable of sowing and reaping. After a while you get crowds. And when you get crowds, along comes rules and rule-makers and rule-enforcers. To allow for so many, a sense of order needs to be created and this doesn't happen naturally. You have taxes to take from the former in order to support the latter, and when the dust has settled you discover that between the pyramids and the towers, the pinnacle of measurement of any great society has become the humble queue.

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More pics of Alton Towers can be found on my Flickr account. Also there may be some news concerning this blog. Don't get all tizzy just yet but in the spirit of community I may be joining forces with a few other like-minded folk online. More later.