Not about food - I don't do this often

So David Miliband, a man described by the Guardian, and presumably therefore by the man himself, as 'an Iraq war critic' has become our Foreign Secretary. On a day when a bomb was discovered in the West End, I'm not quite sure who I loathe more: Miliband or the bombers. I know that in many ways one ought to detest the bombers more, but I can't help but think of the dead and the grieving in Iraq and the complicity of people like Miliband who voted for the war. What kind of 'Iraq war critic' didn't have the guts to stand up for a principle in 2003, when scores of his fellow MPs saw what was true and just, along with more than a million people on the streets of London? It's no excuse that he's a politician and that he needed to caluculate what was best for his own future, and for him to now trade on his supposed secret skepticism is an insult to those who took part on what was the biggest political demonstration in Britain's history and, rather more importantly, those who have died in Iraq, Britain and elsewhere as a result of his less than deeply held views.

On a more positive note, my half-day-off was wonderful and after lunch I wandered through town, stopping off to see two sensational exhibitions: Damien Hirst at the Brewer's Yard White Cube and Old Masters at Sotheby's. The Hirst show - which continues at White Cube in Hoxton - is great fun, not least because you queue for to see the bejewelled skull and are then taken into a darkened room by a security geezer who lets you know just how much it's worth and how many diamonds are on its bonce (the second skull above is the fantastic Mexican Skull of the Smoking Mirror of the British Museum). The rest of the show's fun too: a mixture of the silly, the mediocre and the just wonderful (more animals in formaldehyde, including a shark you can walk through and some wonderful paintings of scenes from a hospital). I had always known that Sothebys and Christies were must-visits but had never before had the gall to walk past the doorman to see paintings about to be sold as though I was a potential buyer. I need not have worried as the place was chocker with punters and there was a wonderful rag-bag of Dutch still-lives, Renaissance art and Turner watercolours.

All this was topped-off with pho at Pho (and I now know that you pronounce it fer) and some shisha, on the last indoor shisha cafe weekend..., at Menara, where Number7 and I bumped into the RSN party. London: it's a fun city.