According to glowing reports there are only a few people in the world who would be unhappy to wake up on a Saturday morning with David Beckham. Granted I only woke up to see a photo of him on the cover of a magazine, but I still found myself as disgruntled with his presence in my Saturday morning as I was uncomfortable watching the video installation in the National Portrait Gallery of Beckham sleeping (there was an uncomfortable moment in the video when you can see both of Beckham's hands, and then one disappears offscreen). Of late the merest hint of Britain has started me pining, but seeing Beckham on the cover of a weekend magazine genuinely gave me pause this morning. For a split second I imagined myself back in London and joyously contemplated taking the tube to Kensington and the Museums, then I was back to reality and the lukewarm excitement of Beckham’s pectoral muscles. When I first got to London in late 2003 I was in charge of the Evangelical Alliance’s cuttings and I ...