The news that two objects, whose existence I was previously unaware of, were daubed with paint last weekend saddened me. Not much, but a bit. About as much as the invasion of a celebrity's privacy when it isn't in the public interest. But not as much as the invasion of the privacy of a murder victim's family or Iraq. More than when you accidentally spill red wine on a friend's carpet, but less than when a friend accidentally spills red wine on your carpet. I wish that hadn't happened, I mildly thought.

Illustration by David Foldvari

Apparently, it wasn't the first time the objects had endured something like this: there was a previous daubing event, hundreds of years ago, which went down considerably better. In fact, there's a rare and widespread artistic consensus that the previous paint slinger, a Frenchman called Nicolas Poussin, had actually improved their appearance.

That was not the feeling about last weekend's additions. Poussin would not have welcomed this collaborator, people decided, as a man with a spray can was led away. They assumed, in fact, that he'd meant to make the pictures look worse. I hope, for the sake of his creative pride, they were right – arrest makes for a terribly bruising review. I still shudder at the memory of what was said about my performance in The Recruiting Officer at university, but at least no one mistook me for an insurgent deliberately ruining the show.

I'd hate you to think I'm trying to make a point about art. I'm just putting this act of vandalism into perspective (which, coincidentally, is something I learned in art: you need a horizon and two vanishing points). Unlike Guardian art critic, Jonathan Jones, who was crosser than Moses was about the golden calf, I'm not sure I quite find it "obscene" or "horrific". Jones really smashed his tablets over the whole business, bemoaning that someone could behave "as if this precious work of art were just a wall or a bridge to be adorned with graffiti".

Just a bridge? Lay off bridges, I say. Bridges are great – I much prefer them to paintings. Anyway, this isn't like spraying paint on a bridge, it's like quickly adding an extra, slightly jerry-built span – which I think would be witty, if less deliverable by aerosol.

Jones thinks enough is enough: "Modern society cannot be trusted – there is too much craziness out there"; "an opportunist with a spray can might judge Poussin a sitting duck". (I thought it was a sort of mini- chicken?)

He wants people entering the National Gallery to be scanned and, if the consequent costs are too much for the institution, charged to cover them. To stop all those opportunistic art vandals. You know, people who are in town anyway, maybe they've done some shopping, they don't want to travel home in rush hour so they swing by the National Gallery to let off a bit of steam on a few of the old masters. But, under Jones's plan, The Fighting Temeraire lives to fight another day because, when they get there, all encumbered by spray paint, acid and John Lewis bags, they decide not to bother because there's a queue.

I'm not sure nutters will be as inhibited by that as Jones hopes and, considering that the damaged paintings were back in place within hours, suggesting that their restoration didn't involve much more than a wipe, it seems a disproportionate response and unfair on everyone else. Particularly as the British hate queues. That's according to a survey conducted by an online parcel delivery company, which I won't embarrass by mentioning here because really they should be concentrating on delivering parcels, not conducting surveys.

Their research suggests that 60% of us tire of queuing after about two and a half minutes and, after five minutes, half of us give up. A spokesman for this company said: "It's surprising to see the extent of how impatient people really are. People nowadays don't want to be hanging around for any longer than expected." You see what I mean about not wanting to embarrass them? Poor guys, they might as well just say: "Our customer service stinks."

I'm not surprised to hear there's a British aversion to queuing. The fact that we famously do it doesn't mean we like it. It's a product of national self-loathing and, in our hawk-like vigilance for queue-jumpers, mutual loathing. Queue-jumping is a much greater cultural affront than desecrating an art work because the queue-jumper seems to be saying: "My time is more important than everyone else's." This is annoying because, deep down, it's what we all feel and suppressing that feeling is a monumental act of politeness and one which we secretly fear is corrosive to our self-esteem. We can't be standing there in a line, patiently subjugating our senses of self, if some people just don't bother. It's like bound feet – it's too mutilating a convention to catch on unless everyone goes along with it.

Once, in an airport, I was lucky enough to be flying business class, which means you have a different, shorter, sometimes nonexistent, queue for check-in. But on this occasion, the demarcation of queues was unclear so it looked, as I overtook the economy ticket holders, as if I'd jumped a queue rather than having been excused it by right of an astronomically higher fare. The back of my head burned under dozens of hate-filled glances and yet I couldn't explain myself because, to do so, I'd effectively be saying that I didn't have to queue because I'd paid more money – and mentioning money is as much of a taboo for the British as queue-jumping.

But it strikes me that involving money in queuing could solve a few problems. Let's adopt the concept of "priority boarding" for all queuing scenarios but, instead of the money going to whatever you're queuing for, it should go to the other people in the queue. It would present everyone with a simple, gloriously capitalist, choice: pay to queue-jump or get paid for waiting. From each according to his ability to each according to his need – that's capitalism, right? Thus money will pass from the rich, busy or self-important to the poor, time-rich and organised. The more people jump the queue, the more the queuer will earn. The more people you wish to overtake, the more it'll cost you.

The rich get ahead in every other aspect of society so why allow queues to persist as egalitarian enclaves, annoying the wealthy and lulling the rest of us into a false impression that life is fair? My scheme would also mean that, when the disenfranchised finally get into the gallery, they'll be riled up for some spraying and will have change to buy souvenirs.

