News travels fast.

So many giant things seem to vie for attention if you ever have the misfortune to turn on the news, but it’s often the small things – or the individuals – that seem to really affect you. Or you feel able to respond to meaningfully.

I wanted to chew over the situation in Gaza one more time; find a way to shake the tree of it. Throttle the frigging life out of it. But somehow the will seeped out of me.

I wanted to explore why I’m so instinctively hoping for Obama – despite his conspicuously vague Actual Policies – for the indefensibly trivial, worldly, dreadfully politicianal reason that he’s such a natural orator. He’s black, and he’s funny. Aparently. But is it enough? Why does it feel like enough? Please let it be enough.

I wanted to cry for little Shannon when they actually found her alive. But there’s nothing more to say there, is there.

I wondered too about the untimely – call it early – loss of Anthony Minghella. He surely had so much creative work still ahead of him. Someone who championed British film and British creative talent – what a sudden loss. What a fabulous selection of films to leave mankind in your wake. Makes you think too.

And, considering I’ve just sent another shipment of artwork to Shanghai, I’m sure I could certainly be exploring the growing challenge of China – Tibet and Ten Downing Street’s moral vaguery, or the world’s new favourite trading buddy’s backdoor to Burmese oppression. It’s a tickler, isn’t it?

Hey, and where would anyone even start with the state of the economy in America, or Still President Bush’s declaration that the war was worth it, or… or a thousand other stories. Big and impossible.

Nope, much as you may wish higher things for yourself – a nobler application of one’s self – your brain will always tell you what’s really important to you. The ol’ subconscious lets you know, you know? Makes clear what you’re really giving a fig for.

Lastnight I dreamt I was offered a lift by Richard Hammond and Jeremy Clarkson, on the lookout for a new presenter for… oh, shite. I’ll just leave it there; you get the point.

I need to get OUT…