This week’s episode of Doctor Who concerns a mad scientist who makes himself decades younger, only to undergo a horrific side-effect. Has he never read any science fiction? Or even The Picture Of Dorian Gray? I’m reminded of a similar episode of Star Trek. In that story, when the character in question first appeared it was so obvious he was a young actor in old man make-up that one immediately knew what was going to happen.

At least the Doctor Who version sported such a convincing cosmetic job it was difficult to tell whether they’d cast a genuinely elderly actor. Or in this case, an older and balder Richard Briers. But no, it was Mark Gatiss underneath, who soon reverted to his more familiar appearance as a younger man. For his more monstrous incarnation he was replaced by a computer-generated scorpion-thing with a human face, straight out of Clive Barker’s Undying game. Small children watching must have had nightmares, which is obviously the idea.

The story is tried and tested, and so is the desired effect. It’s a magic formula about a magic formula. Though it was more about prolonging life than reclaiming one’s lost youth and beauty, the coinciding of this fictional story with news stories about people queuing up to buy theBoots No. 7 Protect and Perfect serum is exquisite. From Cleopatra and her milk baths, to the unpleasant Mr Gray of Oscar Wilde fame, to that Hammer horror film where Ingrid Pitt bathes in virgins’ blood to keep the prosthetic make-up wolves from her door. And now Doctor Who on TV, and Boots The Chemist in the real world.

[Idea for parody: The Picture Of David Gray. A mad scientist invents a serum which turns him into a monstrously inoffensive singer-songwriter with a wobbly head who has a few big hits about ‘Babylon’ or something, then vanishes from trace. Probably been done. ]

It’s the third time in as many weeks that there’s been news stories about women forming long queues outside London shops. First for some trendy shopping bag, then for Kate Moss’s clothing range at Topshop, and now for this Boots anti-aging cream.

Walking around Highgate with Anna S on Saturday, by way of a post-haircut stretching of the legs, we pop into the Flask pub for a quick drink. There’s a long queue at the bar. We don’t like the Flask THAT much, so we repair to the Angel Inn down the road, where there’s empty seats and no queue. There’s two men playing chess, and two women playing Trivial Pursuit. Which sounds like I’m trying to make a clever metaphorical point, but I’m not, honest.

Like the one in the Flask, most queues are not worth being in. Not really. I generally am suspicious of anything that can make people queue up when they don’t really need to. Particularly if it’s generated huge amounts of column inches.

But the thing is, these ladies are not queueing for just a bag, or just some celebrity-endorsed clothes, or just some skin cream. This is about being part of something that other people have been convinced to desire, which means they desire it too. And once again, it’s back to Tom Sawyer and his queue of boys paying to paint his fence for him. They’re not being conned, because they’re happy. A hunger has been generated, and they’re more than happy to satisfy it, however unnecessary it looks on paper.

God: But what do you want? What do you really want?
Mankind: I’ll have what everyone else is having.

Liz Jones in The Daily Mail, on the queues for Ms Moss’s range:

Actually, the queuing part – fuelled as we were by free bottles of water and packets of sweets – was quite fun.

Elsewhere:

“It’s a really fun thing to do with your friends,” said one 14-year-old girl. “We came prepared with hot chocolate, and the atmosphere in the queue was fantastic.”

Less happy are queuers for the Boots cream, covering their faces from the cameras. Perhaps they’re mutating into nasty scorpion monsters.

One feels the need to print up the following on stickers and affix it to the Boots shelves:

… Boots paid for the research [featured on BBC TV’s Horizon programme]. It sponsored the study, led by Christopher Griffiths, professor of dermatology at Manchester University… He said: ‘I only tested Boots products. If I’d tested other firms’ products, I may have seen changes with theirs too.’

So much for The Science Part. But then, this isn’t what they’re queuing for. People who use this cream really want the warm, skin-renewing glow from the sense of acquiring that which is desired en masse:

Head of customer care at Boots, Graham Hardy, said: “We’ve heard many stories as to why women should be top of the list to receive the serum, including ‘It’s my son’s wedding in three months’ time”.

Had I written the Doctor Who story, I’d have taken more of a Dorian Gray slant (Reader’s Voice: Oh Mr Edwards, you surprise us!). I’d have asked questions about male vanity, metrosexual men, boy bands, toy boys, Mark Oaten’s hair falling out as his alibi for taking on rent boys, and all the attendant homoerotic connotations.

The Boots stories have hinted at this, but prefer the chivalrous take:

“We have had some men in buying it, but whether we can believe that it’s for their wives and girlfriends as they claim and not for them is up for debate.”

Harry Roach, 73, was the first in line after creeping out of bed shortly after 4am to surprise his wife. The retired production manager from Wythenshawe said: ‘Edith had been trying to get hold of this cream for some time. She was over the moon. I’m definitely in her good books.’ Edith cooked him a huge breakfast as a thank you. The retired secretary said: ‘He is a very good husband and it was a lovely gesture. Friends will be jealous.‘

Never mind the cream itself; the feeling of getting one over on one’s neighbours, of owning whatever object of desire is in the news, will always do miracles for the complexion.