I swear that I used to be able to sit still. I could spend a weekend watching boxed sets or just dicking about. Maybe that’s not the case. Maybe I never did those things. I just know that I can’t do it anymore without going out of my mind.

Okay, so yesterday wasn’t exactly an energetic day; I went into Edinburgh to watch Four Lions, met up with Scott and people afterwards (though my conversation reserves were running low and I resorted to making stupid jokes) and then an evening watching Body of Lies.

However, I got up this morning and decided that I wanted to go for a run. Which is fine, it means that I’d surely be staving off the in-the-flat-Sunday depression/funk but letting off a bit of steam and burning a few calories. Except that six hours later I felt the urge to get out again before I imploded and grabbed the bike for an hour of frustration venting.

It was probably my own fault today as I attempted to go shopping for clothes. I lasted less than two minutes before turning tail and heading to the coffee shop with a book instead. It appears that my pathological hatred of clothes shopping is showing no signs of abating. I’m sure my current tatty jeans will do for another year or so.