STAND one Englishman at a bus stop, they say, and he will form a queue of one. But what about what happens in a busy pub where the thirsty hordes jostle at the bar waiting to be served? Where's the queue there?

It may be disorderly and appear to break all the rules of being English, according to Kate Fox, but an, "invisible queue" still forms.

In her riveting new book the Cambridge social anthropologist explains how she twigged that every person at an English bar is aware of everyone else's position in the non-existent line-up. Everyone knows who is next.

"Any obvious attempt to get served out of turn will be ignored by the bar staff and severely frowned on by the customers," she writes in Watching the English.

It has been said that English people have lost their national identity but Fox wasn't convinced and set out to hunt down the rules of being English.

She started observing people and then tested reactions when she deliberately jumped a queue or bumped into a stranger. And whatever aspect of English life she looked at, from food to conversation, the old adage that we are a highly class-conscious people was all too apparent.

From the car that you drive to your chat-up line and from your choice of starter to your foibles of dress, as soon as you appear or open your mouth, you reveal your social category, she suggests.

So what are the defining characteristics of being English, according to Kate Fox?

The central core, she argues, is what she calls our "social disease".

By that she means our "lack of ease, discomfort and incompetence in the field (minefield) of social interactions; our embarrassment, insularity, awkwardness, perverse obliqueness, emotional constipation, fear of intimacy and general inability to engage in a normal and straightforward fashion with other human beings."

And we cover it up by becoming, for example, over-polite and buttoned up (English reserve), or possibly loutish and crude (English hooliganism).

One reflex reaction to our social awkwardness, she suggests, is our sense of humour.

"The English do not have any sort of global monopoly on humour but what is distinctive is the sheer pervasiveness and supreme importance of humour in English everyday life."

The constant undercurrent of virtually every conversation is humour, using everything from irony to self-deprecation and from teasing to sarcasm to communicate.

She calls it "the importance of not being earnest."

Ask someone a straightforward question like, for example:

"How are the children?"

The chances are the reply might be:

"Oh, they're delightful, helpful, tidy, studious..."

To which the English person asking will immediately pick up the ironic nuance and reply: "Been one of those days, has it?"

Apart from humour, the other reflex default modes of the English in a social situation are to be modest and, she claims, hypocritical.

We don't like a fuss or to rock the boat. And we say our pleases and thank-yous even when we don't mean it.

In terms of outlook, Fox argues, we are "Eeyorish" - like the gloomy donkey in Winnie the Pooh.

We moan incessantly and, apparently, ineffectually, but with great enjoyment in indulging our "chronic pessimism." Huh. Just our luck, eh? Typical.

Add to our class-consciousness, moral values, obsession with fair play and courtesy and you have a blueprint for the English tribe.

And what about modesty? Well, I don't want to blow our trumpet but we are quite good at that, aren't we?

If someone says: "I do a bit of sport", the chances are they have won an Olympic medal.

If you say toilet and serviette, people will know you're from a different class from Mrs Green-Welly up the road who says lavvie and napkin.

An Englishman or woman can pigeonhole their compatriots into classes quicker than you can say "fancy a prawn cocktail, luv".

Fox quotes a Hungarian who once said: "On the continent people have good food; in England they have table manners."

That, no doubt, is fast changing, but Kate Fox observes that the English still regard someone with an intense interest in food as "somehow morally suspicious".

She suggests we regard it as unmanly, on a par with an enthusiastic interest in soft furnishings, citing as evidence how celebrity chefs parade their passion for football or adopt bloke-ish language.

But, she adds, excessive zeal for any subject is regarded as embarrassing and our interest in food does seem to be growing.

Mind you, that doesn't stop us moaning.

Confronted with poor service or bad food and our "social disease" our reflex inhibitions come to ther fore.

Firstly, there are those of us who avoid eye contact with the waiter who is asking if everything is all right and reply "It's fine, thank you."

Then there are those made of sterner stuff, whose English speciality is the apologetic complaint. "Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry but this soup seems, well, a tiny bit cold. Sorry to be a nuisance."

And, of course, thirdly, there are the loudmouths who bluster aggressively and make the other people in the restaurant cringe.

Food also provides another set of class indicators.

As a general rule, she adds, the middle social ranks are highly susceptible to the latest healthy-eating fads and call their evening meal "dinner" whereas the upper middle and upper classes would refer to having supper whereas the working classes tend to call it "tea".

The English are also extremely reluctant to give too much information away to strangers on first meetings.

An American might greet you saying: "Hi, I'm Randy from Albuquerque and who are you?"

The English man or woman may hide it but will probably wince and cringe. He will feel much more comfortable with a straight "how do you do?" To which no response is required other than the identical "how do you do." And certainly no intimate exchange of information at this stage. Good heavens, no.

And what about the weather? It's a great opportunity for a moan and the first topic of conversation when two English meet. It's used as a simple greeting, an ice-breaker and a default line when you can't think of anything else to say.

But, like most things English, it is governed by strict rules.

And the basic one is that you must never contradict..

If Aunty Maud says, "Nippy, isn't it?" it would be quite rude to reply , "No actually it is quite mild".

Or you can try the subtle alternative by saying "Yes, but my husband always tells me I don't feel the cold."

The book is a fascinating study that covers everything from dress codes to flirting habits but I mustn't start on about them.

Please forgive me, after all, I've already taken up too much of your precious time.

Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour by Kate Fox, Hodder and Stoughton £20.

Lovely as the English, and indeed the British are, author Bill Bryson says there are some things that are only possible to truly appreciate if you were born here. These include:

Sooty

Tony Hancock (the late comedian who came from Bournemouth)

Bill and Ben and the Flowerpot Men

Marmite

Skiffle music

that Morecambe and Wise segment when Angela Rippon showed off her legs by dancing;

Gracie Fields singing 'Sally'

George Formby doing anything

Dixon of Dock Green

HP sauce;

salt cellars with a large single hole

sandwiches made from bread you sliced yourself;

really milky tea

allotments

the belief that household wiring is an interesting topic for conversation

steam trains

toast made under a gas grill

thinking that going to choose wallpaper with your mate constitutes a reasonably good day out

wine made out of something other than grapes

unheated bedrooms and bathrooms

seaside rock

erecting windbreaks on a beach.