Sometimes the Tube presents unexpected opportunities for self reflection. Like the other day when a woman who looked like PJ Harvey stepped onto my carriage with a giant whippet. She had that disaffected alt-rocker aesthetic going on while the mega-whippet was strutting a brooding dark-and-silent type persona. After a quick perusal of the people around her PJ turned her attention to the window. It seemed that she was more intrigued by the dark tunnel walls quickly sliding past outside the train than by anyone sitting inside it. Mr. Whippet on the other hand showed his disapproval of our style by regarding each of us, his fellow passengers, in turn with an expression of rank disdain.
It made me wish I had cooler clothes.