A man who looks on glass..

Whenever I have to be in London, I try to mix business with pleasure - the place holds so much that makes life worth living. So yesterday, I managed to take in a matinee at the Gielgud, God of Carnage. Enough glowing reviews have been written about this play to make mine superfluous. It's just about as perfect as it can be, an intelligent comedy about two couples making a reconciliation between their sons, over an incident where one of the boys has broken the teeth of the other in a fight.

In the characters, one is affable, one is pragmatic and assertive. Another is simpering, another sees herself as a caring intellectual. These personas are, for as long as they are used in their civilised early discussion, quite enough to achieve agreement and resolve an awkward situation. Only when developments in the plot mean that they are forced to delve deeper, do characteristics emerge that cause them to lose the veneer, to turn on each other - first as couples, then within their own marriages and, finally, to face their own deadly flaws as individuals. The message of the play may be that we all have darker thoughts we'd sooner keep under the surface. It could also be that we shouldn't scratch the surface if we want a quiet life.

So I emerged in a good frame of mind. Outside the theatre, one of Hollywood's finest, Lauren Bacall, wearing trademark black and still looking like a somebody, was stepping into a chauffeur driven limo after seeing the show, unrecognised by the audience spilling out on to Shaftesbury Avenue. With a couple of hours to kill before the train, I sat in Leicester Square enjoying the sunshine, the kids playing, the crowds of tourists and the passers-by while I decided on what I'd like to eat. All I had to do was to work out what I fancied most, for within a few minutes walk just about anything was on offer. The wonders of a free market economy means that every last nook and cranny is taken by somebody competing to satisfy every appetite, in every price-range, with menus recipes and ingredients from everywhere in the world. Once I'd eaten, the choice of Tube or taxi would take me to Kings Cross where the Grantham train would depart on the dot and I'd glide along in First Class while smiling attendants brought me complimentary coffee and a newspaper to help the journey along.

What could possibly be better? When everything works perfectly, designed to make me part with money in exchange for making me happy, why look for the worst aspects in the murky layers beneath the surface - when all is well if I just take things as they are? Why would it be worth delving beneath the surface at unpleasant concepts like food miles, immigrant labour and energy sustainability? The world will collapse and turn on itself if we do, so we don't. Not really we don't anyway. Hope and Change! Hope and Change! Vote Obama!