9am, west London
How many foreigners have to be blown to bits to get a story on to the front pages of some of our great national newspapers?
The peddlers of death who persuaded some poor soul to plant the bomb intended to kill Benazir Bhutto in Karachi must be wondering that too in their caves of moral darkness as the death toll edges towards 150. What do we have to do next time?
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I hear the familiar voice of Tony Blair on the radio. He has been making a speech in New York, warning against the Islamist threat and likening it to European fascism.
As with likening anyone to Hitler or Stalin - even each other - it is rarely a very illuminating comparison. Islamism's roots are surely very different, older even? And is that the sound of cash registers I hear in the Manhattan background?
Should Ms Bhutto have gone home yet against so much advice, thereby risking her own life and others? Even at this distance it was easy to imagine something like yesterday's bombing awaiting the return of the charismatic exile.
The alliance between the ambitious aristo and the impoverished urban masses is always a potent one, fraught with ambiguity. Bill Shakespeare was on to that one too.
At least the ITV phoney-premium phones racket is moving up the news agenda.
After getting Channel 4 News's top spot it got the prime 8.10am position on Today this morning, with Humpo giving ITV's (ex-BBC) boss, Michael Grade, a grilling. It all happened before Grade's time, but he didn't have some of the answers he should have by now.
The Times has meanwhile pumped up a ''battle of the Euro-Treaty'' yarn, though the outcome of an EU summit is rarely clear on the day. Forced to choose between Digger Murdoch's loathing of Europe and his loathing of TV rivals it has gone for Europe. There may be some chess grandmaster's point here way above my pay grade.
Does Rupert still want ITV and all that junk programming? Its shares have fallen towards bargain basement level. Or have all those high-minded promises to protect the Wall Street Journal's integrity, now that he has trousered it, finally cured him? His date with the arch-proprietor can't be too far away now. In fact, cuts at the BBC get more attention than fraud at ITV. Business as usual then.
Talking of Bill I was too late and too tired to attend the launch of John Simpson's new book. John was briefly the BBC's political editor years ago, but fled to more wholesome pastures and the understated title of world affairs editor.
The bash was held in the hall of the Middle Temple - a lovely high-ceilinged building, one of the ancient inns of court between Fleet Street and the Thames, close to the Templar Church where part of that idiot Da Vinci Code film was shot.
I like to attend events there because I can ask unsuspecting fellow-guests ''do you know that Shakespeare's comedy, Twelfth Night, was first performed here on February 2 1602 in the presence of the author?''
At least, scholars say it was the first recorded performance. Probably. I always get a buzz at the thought of inhaling recycled dust that may have passed through Bill. Whenever I get home from a Middle Temple event, full of good cheer, and tell all this to my wife, she says:''You told me that last time.''
The nicest thing about this week is that the Guardian's little office under Big Ben at Westminster has been refurbished as part of a wider makeover of the press gallery under health and safety dictat. As a result it is both bigger, brighter and, of course, safer. There will be no risk of hurting ourselves reaching for books on those nasty high shelves any more!
We now have two small, Pugin-compatible windows so that on Tuesday (Monday was cloudy) I arrived to find a sunbeam playing on my desk. It is the first time room 15 has seen sunlight in its dark 150-year history. So we have been enjoying our micro-Indian summer all week.
Alas, this morning my colleague, Tania Branigan, rings to warn me that the brand new door handles have started falling off.
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