THE surly service began the moment we got off the plane from our summer holiday. Leaving the warm courtesy of the airline staff behind, we were confronted by a phalanx of stony-faced British airport officials barking for our passports. It continued at the station, where the ticket clerk communicated in barely audible grunts, and on the tube, where staff let a German passenger struggle with his suitcase for a full minute before deigning to open the luggage gate.

But it really came to a head on the train. It was crowded with tourists, among them a quiet, well mannered French family who spoke little English. First, they were forced to move to make way for another family. Then along came a burly middle-aged woman who started berating the mother of the family. "You're . . . sitting . . . in . . . my . . . seat!" she announced belligerently (and unfairly). The family's confused, half-comprehending smiles only seemed to make things worse. "They don't speak English!" announced Mrs Angry to her companion, with contempt.

Then, to top it all off, the snack trolley attendant came in and ran her heavily laden trolley right over the French woman's toes. In another country, an apology would have been given unreservedly, but not here. She fixed the French woman with a defiant stare and informed her that was why she shouldn't leave her foot in the aisle. "Welcome to Britain, " someone muttered.

Grudging, snappy, bad-tempered, indifferent - poor manners and customer service, especially in the tourist industry, are depressingly widespread in the UK and never more noticeable than at this time of year. Go somewhere - anywhere - else, from south-east Asia to the US, sub-Saharan Africa to Scandinavia, and service is generally better; in many cases vastly so. It is normal, elsewhere, to be pleased that someone has made the effort to visit your country; it is normal to take a pride in meeting customers' needs - yes, even people with children; it is normal, above all, to see something worth while in what you are doing. It is not the norm, in other countries, to roll your eyes if a visitor cannot speak the local language; it is not normal to sigh histrionically if someone inquires about a high chair; it is not normal, above all, to regard service as demeaning.

But here in Britain, grudging service is a long-standing problem. Twenty years ago, when Michael Palin had completed the first of his televised voyages, Round the World in Eighty Days, he returned to the UK after three months away and lost his temper within minutes of arriving in London, due to the rude, discourteous way he was treated by a street vendor. Not in any other country, he thundered, but as soon as he returned to the UK.

Things have improved since, but not nearly as much as they should have. The B&B owner who refuses to fry an egg a minute after breakfast has officially ended; the railway official who tuts with impatience when an overseas visitor struggles to find the right English words; the waitress who stares with disbelief when asked for an alteration to a dish: that sort of thing is still common.

Some people, seeking to explain away this exasperating behaviour, suggest it is dictated by our bleak, northern European outlook: greyskies-thinking, some might say defeatistly. They add that it is better to be rude honestly than to be chirpy dishonestly in the have-anice-day mould of the US supermarket grocery-packer.

But I suspect there is another reason, a sort of amalgam of British snobbery and residual sensitivity about class. Even as recently as 50 years ago, at a time when social mobility was much more limited than it is now and society more deferential, being in a service role might denote one's place in the world. That is clearly no longer the case: service is not at all the same as servility, and people from all manner of backgrounds work in service roles. Yet, for some, such connotations seem hard to shake off. Add to that the distasteful sense of superiority towards those of other nationalities that persists in some places - a hangover, perhaps, of Britain's fast-receding history as an imperial power - and you have the makings of some complicated psychology.

What effect does this disobliging culture have on tourism? At a time when the industry is facing other tribulations, including unfavourable exchange rates for (traditionally high-spending) American tourists, higher costs than many other places in western Europe and the US, and heightened airport security, sarcastic, gum-chewing service staff are hardly the sort of ambassadors we need.

I don't say treat all tourists with indiscriminate respect: the rude, unreasonable boor who enjoys lording it over "the staff" deserves a bit of cool disdain. But the confused sightseer who can't find her hotel, the excited tourist stepping off the plane for the first time and the passenger who accidentally leaves her foot in the path of an oncoming trolley deserve a great deal better.

Dig this mole idea

IT WAS a little embarrassing. I had already had two moles removed because they had scabbed over, and both had been benign. Going back to the GP a third time with a mole I was convinced was growing, I started to suspect myself of hypochondria. My doctor once again referred me to a dermatologist, and once again it turned out to be nothing.

Would I darken my GP's door again? Yes, probably, because the consequences of ignoring a suspicious mole might be grave. But now there is an alternative, should I wish to take it: mole clinics. These private clinics allow for people to have suspicious moles seen to without visiting the GP. They are not a new phenomenon, but the high-street chemist Superdrug has just announced that it is to operate such clinics in some of its stores.

For Superdrug, although it is linking up with the Institute of Cancer Research, this is not a purely charitable venture: the consultations will cost GBP45 for one mole and GBP15 for each additional one. But the advantages are not to be sniffed at. Men, in particular, continue to neglect their skin in the sun. Add to that men's documented reluctance to visit a GP, and there must surely be a lot of suspicious moles going unchecked out there. For many men, a "pay-per-view" mole clinic might be preferable to the GP's surgery.

Will the cost put some people off? Perhaps. There might be a case for subsidy or for stand-alone government-funded ventures. But the principle is a good one: anything that encourages early detection of skin cancer can only be a good thing.

Melanie Reid is away.