Tube announcer: Station cleaner to the ticket office please, spinach on concourse.

Me: Spinach! Spinach in the tube station! A small forest of swaying vegetation smothering the Oyster machine in dark glossy leaves and a hazy cloud of vitamin C! Rows of crisp, fresh lettuce springing up between cracks in the pavement! Runner beans snaking fat tendrils through the tunnels and a sudden shower of plump, succulent sprouts being gamely mopped up by the ticket inspector! Feathery carrot tops shyly nudging their way through asphalt! Rivulets of pea running freely in the gutters! Scores of workers throwing off the shackles of the tedious daily commute, donning wellies, shovels and wide, carefree grins and digging happily for...

D: Spillage.

Me: Oh.