It is, we observed tonight, often for things like infertility clinics and plastic surgeons.
‘It must be,’ I remarked, ‘because on the whole people are miserable on the Tube. And when people are miserable they think the worst about themselves, and I guess that means that they think about being ugly. Or infertile. Or ugly and infertile.’
I felt sad, thinking about all the people whose rich vein of sadness is being tapped by marketeers like that. But then I felt happy: that the fact that I still view public transport with the enthusiasm of a four-year-old boy means that while frequently aggravating, the Tube has never made me feel so despondent that I’ve been moved to consider breast implants.
