Death in the afternoon

I spent a little time in my last job at the BBC suggesting ways to use the magnificent open space created in front of new Broadcasting House by the architect Sir Richard MacCormac. I envisaged cafe culture, student string quartets, occasional sales of second hand books and broadcasting memorabilia from trestles, giant chess games, impromptu stand-ups, poetry readings, circus acts, fashion shows - a sort of mini-Southbank, where the licence fee payer might be drawn from Oxford Circus to peer through at how their money was being spent, and the BBC staff, away from their serried ranks in the upper floors, might feel this was a fun place to work.

This November the piazza has become a plaza. A wintry 21st century ruedo of media bullfighting, with the participants eerily backlit in blue. Huddled crews from news networks are dotted across the space, filling time with low chuntering, til the next set of bulls arrive, and Patten's latest set of matadors and picadors pierce their proffered necks. Then retreat through revolving doors to the safety of the callejon.

It's grim, frankly. "Giving the crowd what they want" is no defence. And presidente Patten is at real risk of finding himself dragged from the arena by mules.