London is overflowing with social rules and expectations. Walk through Canary Wharf not wearing business attire (and these days, a look of anxiety) and you can expect to feel like an alien.

Walk along Old Street in anything but skinny jeans and a darling real fur coat with your friend's band's demo strumming in your ears, and you can expect to feel like an unfashionable alien. And in the case of both places, don't even think about rocking up hungover, devouring a sloppy kebab. Too calorific, too Kentish Town.

Naturally one would expect that the London Underground - the one place where all types of city dwellers flock - would be pleasantly eclectic and non-judgmental. Strangely, however, this is not the case. And amidst all the glares and tut-tuttings of disapproval, the politics of reading standards are the most difficult to abide by.

The controversy of what is and isn't acceptable to read on the Tube came to me on a recent journey when I was reading a Mills & Boon romance as part of my University course. (My module this term is largely a comparison between Medieval Romances and their influence on popular, contemporary fiction.) Yet during my short journey, I felt embarrassed about my book entitled Desert Prince, Defiant Virgin, which showed a tanned couple kissing in a swimming pool on the cover. I may have even cracked a few ribs trying to fold my body in half with the objective of hiding the book behind my knees.

But what exactly is the problem? Who dictates the rules about what the general public is allowed to read on the Tube without feeling embarrassed, stupid or in my case, in pain?

After my seminar on Mills & Boon novels, I learned that they are the most read books in the world. Should one attempt to read all the books they've published in the last ten years - at a rate of two hours per book - it would take no less than a quarter of a million years. Thus it is not exactly as if reading one of them makes me obscure.

To argue that the public stigma against these books stems from their being uninspiring and uninformative is insufficient. Consider how the so-called high flyers, in their rush to get from one place to another, nevertheless flick past the front page articles about the next big bank to cut jobs and instead revel in the celebrity gossip columns sealed in the middle of The Metro and worse, The London Lite. Yes, Amy Winehouse takes drugs. No, Jade Goody doesn't mind dying any more. And yes, reading about them on a daily basis does make a Mills & Boon critic hypocritical.

When observing a carriage of random readers, it would appear that the literature deemed as acceptable does not equate with that which gives pleasure. If you want the thumbs up, just scrape someone in the face with an oversized FT page about the shambles of the economy. Or one about the government's concerns with the NHS.

Alternatively, just stick The Economist to the cover of your Mills & Boon novel.

Here Is The Writer : Ing Chua-Lee

Ing was born and bred in London, and is absolutely in love with the city. She lived in Singapore as an expat for two years, interned in the City, then graduated from the University of York where she studied English Literature and History of Art. Excited by anything beautiful, hilarious and expensive, she is now enjoying being back and spending her time and money swanning around like nothing's changed.

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