I HATE queueing.

It's bad enough when you're at the end of a line of people but at least you can see how fast they're moving and judge the waiting time.

Not so if the queue you're in happens to be on the telephone. Like everyone else these days, having been telephone trained in the good old days of the GPO "Hello" girls, I've had my share of over-polite electronic voices, thanking me for being so patient when I'm not, playing me music I don't want to listen to, guiding me through endless alternatives in a numbers game, soothing my growing impatience in dulcet electronic feminine tones.

Doesn't anyone answer the phone anymore? I know companies -- particularly banks -- are cutting down on staff but the business world now seems to be populated by anonymous electronic voices.

I say all this because the other day I think I hit the telephone equivalent of the Hatfield rail crash -- lots of defective lines but the only casualty was my sanity.

It began innocently enough with a phone call to the North East to a customer services department over some equipment ordered and paid for three months earlier which had never arrived.

Each time I rang, the number was engaged. I tried all morning and it was early afternoon by the time it rang out. Unfortunately, the name of the firm I was ringing was Fish and Chips. Only Fish was spelt Fiche (computers, geddit?).

"Is that Fiche and Chips?" I asked.

"You trying to be funny?" said a voice and slammed the phone down. Finally I got the right number. Guess who answered. It was electronic Sheila. "Thank you for calling Fiche and Chips," she crooned. "All our representatives are busy at the moment. Please hold the line." And slammed a cheap recording of Dvorak's Fifth symphony in my ear.

Thereafter, Dvorak was interrupted every 30 seconds with: "Thank you for being so patient. All our operators are still busy. But you're moving up the queue!" Just when I thought it MUST be my turn . . . click! The call was cut off. I went ballistic.

With the bit firmly clenched in my teeth I dialled again. Six minutes later, same result. Money for nothing. Angrily, I dialled 100 for operator assistance.

It rang out for ages and when it was finally answered I couldn't believe my ears. Electronic Sheila had invaded BT! "All our operators are busy at the moment. You are in a queue and will be answered as soon as possible."

Eventually a ringing tone and, like the true fisherman I finally landed the catch I'd been angling for: a human-being.

Not a lady from the local exchange but a Scottish lassie based in Inverness, would you believe!

I explained the problem; gave her the offending number. "Ah!" she exclaimed.

"That is not one of our numbers. It is a cable line. I will have to ring their customer services department. Please hold the line."

Well, I waited patiently for several minutes on a dead line. Finally, she came back. "I'm sorry. I cannot deal with this at the moment, I'll have to ring you back. You see, I'm in a queue . . . "