"And can you make my husband's tea without boiling water?", asked the older lady in front of me in the coffee shop queue.

Well, actually, she wasn't in front of me in the queue, but her "it's cold today, isn't it" assertion seemed to give her the right to queue jump or what my Mum would call "pushing in".

I was actually pretty warm. I was wondering how the assistant would work the nature-defying miracle of infusing the tea below boiling point, when the lady said: "I said it was cold today, isn't it!"

"I try not to complain too much," I braved. "It might be colder tomorrow?"

Is this another British disease? The Complaint.

Let's go in this pub!

It's too quiet.

It's full of kids.

The food takes forever.

They rush you.

There's too much choice, but I always have the steak and ale pie anyway.

It's a bit draughty.

It's a bit dim and dingy.

I hate the way they've refurbed it.

And on and on and on "Did you enjoy your fortnight's holiday in Spain"?

Not really. It was too Spanishy for our Norman and the heat there was no air at times".

"How do you like your new car?"

It's OK, but the green's a bit too bluey green for me. I prefer by greens to be a bit more lighter, more turquoisey.

"How are you doing?"

OK really, can't complain. Well, my leg's been playing up and my chest's a bit phlegmy...

Aaargh! Anything you want to get off your chest?