Slightly off subject, but earlier today I got on the Victoria Line at Green Park alongside a broken looking Robert Peston.
Sitting at the very end of a lonely end carriage, he cut a rather subdued figure. No sharp suit. In fact, casual shoes, no tie, not even a jacket.
Just a man looking like the world, for once, wasn't interested in what he had to say.
On the first day of the year when no-one gives a banker's bonus what the man who has been the beating heart of UK journalism had to say, Peston clearly didn't know quite what to do with himself.
Don't worry Robert. This Obama character, fly-by-night. Tomorrow's chip wrappers. You'll see. Come next week your army of fans, of which I count myself one, will be devouring your interesting broadcasting style as the continuing spiral of world financial catastrophe is explained in terms we can all digest.
I was going to come over and say so, but I was getting off at Oxford Cricus.
