I am depressed. My man Ken Doherty is not doing so well in the World Snooker final. He’s about 6 frames behind the other guy. The other guy is Mark Williams, a droopy, no neck freak. His appearance didn’t bother me before he started beating my guy. I am angry and need something to lash out at. This always happens when I watch Ken play. I get so worked up that my mental well-being rests on every shot he makes. After vicarously living through his matches for the last fortnight I am a shivering mass of neuroses. At least it will all be over tomorrow.

Because I am going to commit suicide, from the sound of things.