I’m standing in an airport queue after a medical conference, patiently waiting for the bag-tag machine, smugly grateful that I checked in on my phone, thus avoiding the line opposite me, five times as long.

Queueing to wait for one’s turn is a concept invented by hungry cavemen but not perfected until Homo erectus reached England: “Gentlemen, we’ve enough mammoth to go around, but you don’t get first dibs on the foretrunk by waving your club. Chisel your name onto this rock (in triplicate), and we’ll grunt for you shortly.”