December 6th, 2003


Oh dear. Chat log.

Scarlatti: I need a cricket-to-English dictionary
DougS: Giles saved the day -- 17 not out.
Scarlatti: Hurrah for Giles.
Scarlatti: (We haven't moved into Buffy now, I trust? )
DougS: (I'm sure he plays cricket too. But the Giles from Buffy would only score 17 if he got a bunch of potentials into bed -- it's not his style.)

Remedies for depression

I was feeling rotten last night. I felt just as bad this morning. One of you knew, at least one other guessed.

I went Christmas shopping, but I didn't achieve anything. I felt listless, unenthused, flat.
It's surprising, each time, just how disabling a spell of subclinical depression can be.
I went food shopping, picked up some comfort food in the hope that it might do me some good.

And then there was Chat.

We talked about cricket for a while, a game which still baffles her.
And then she flattered me shamelessly about my poetry.
And now I've had some truly excellent sausages, onions, mash and gravy.

Now I officially feel better.