I look at the book in front of me. It's just too...cheerful. The front cover is bright blue, with the words 'Neither Here Nor There' written on it. What a stupid title. To be quite honest, right now I feel as if my life is going pretty much down the pan. It's not that I'm particularly unhappy, but I do tend to have these sudden urges to moan about how rubbish everything is. But every time I do, I have to remind myself that it is the illness talking, not me. I am not really a depressed Danish prince. I do not have an estranged uncle. It is all in my imagination. The pharmacist said it would be tough, and she was right. But first I have to start reading. I have to get better, before I follow Hamlet and lose my sanity.
The first chapter is about Norway. I actually find myself laughing a bit, as he describes how horrible it is in the place. But then the temptation becomes too much. My Shakespeare is just over there, on the shelf. I can just reach over and get it whenever I want it to. My fingers start to crawl across my bookshelf. My body follows. Then quite suddenly the doorbell rings. I go down to answer it. It's Chancey.
'Thank God!' I say, wiping my forehead in relief, 'You've come just in time. I was just about to relapse!'
'Oh no, you poor thing! Here, let me come inside and I'll make you a cup of tea...'