Finding the Antidote.

You might be pleased to hear that the pills worked and I’m no longer cheerful, so that’s a relief. I’m not quite back to my more accustomed level of top grade glumness yet, but I’m making a valiant effort to get there.

Maybe I should watch some World Cup football on the TV. I might be especially well advised to pay heed to the so-called pundits to whom the schedulers allot a ridiculous amount of air time before and after the match, and even for the whole of the half time interval if it’s on the BBC (no adverts, you see.)

This is the problem with life. It rarely gives us anything truly thrilling to stir the blood like dishevelled Japanese ghosts crawling out of the TV set. Instead we get sports so-called pundits spewing out trivial but self-important rubbish which lands on the carpet and leaves an irritating stain.