Stood on a packed train this evening, engaging in a little people watching, I noticed a tall guy wearing a lanyard. The writing on the lanyard indicated to me that he worked for a hospital trust which provides care for people with mental illness. This guy's appearance was on the scruffy side, wearing trousers that fit the bracket between casual and formal, faded from many washes and in need of an iron. A limp shirt under burgundy chunky knitwear and tatty, white Addidas trainers completed his attire. He had a banana protruding from his coat pocket. I considered asking him for the banana because I was feeling anxious and faint and the sugar may have helped. I began wondering what role he fulfilled at the hospital trust; support services, property maintenance or something similar I imagined. I tried to read the writing on his I.D card without being noticed, difficult with my poor eyesight and stupid varifocal lenses. I was shocked to eventually decipher the words under his name ( Ali something, I've forgotten the surname already ), " Clinical Psychologist ". This led me to reconsider seriously asking him for the banana because he was a man who might understand the needs of an anxious woman standing on a packed train. The point of me writing this is because I concluded that aesthetics and function do not go hand in hand. " Never judge a book by its cover." In my experience psychologist are often of a particular type, prone to alternative appearance, "hippyness" or just not rating appearance very highly on their list of priorities. I have observed this in other intellectuals too. With the rise of acceptability and popularity of tattoos, I have in the past had conversations with myself about why I would still rather certain professionals keep them hidden ? ( I do try not to succumb to stereotypes but we're all human and they do have a purpose so I'm not going to be too hard on myself. ) When I eventually got a seat on the train my thoughts turned to institutions and how I have always felt comfortable in schools, hospitals and places which provide care regardless of whether I was giving or receiving that care. Such places have a visual language, pale pink walls ( to keep people calm apparently ) and those low, square, upholstered but armless chairs where one is invited to sit for difficult conversations; institution chairs I call them, usually accompanied by a box of tissues of undistinguishable brand on an equally low table. For some reason I felt compelled to write this all down as soon as I got home, maybe because I am so forgetful, maybe to remind myself not to judge or to accept that we all judge and are judged. But certainly to remember that just because something looks efficient it isn't necessarily so, and vice versa.