But the mantle of gloom that descended on me about four weeks ago only shifted slightly.
Two lemons on my desk have been the only consistently visible golden orbs for weeks.
The last time I noticed the sun shining it was Sunday.
It lasted an hour.
Those who have been working on skifields above the inversion layer and freezing fog have been near-delirious with their daily doses of vitamin D.
I am a bit jealous of these annoying people at the moment, all cheerful, sparkly-eyed, ruddy-cheeked, silly-hatted and baggy-panted, talking strangely in supermarkets.
OK, I admit defeat.
Despite the tin of vitamin D-rich oily tuna in my desk drawer that I keep for emergencies, I am having difficulty rising above this weakness of mind and limb. (It would probably help if I ate the fish instead of ignoring it and going to the cafe instead.)
If I said I wanted to throw my whole life away and go swimming in the sea somewhere hot and exotic forever (and I do), health care workers might say I am exhibiting symptoms of seasonal affective disorder - or sad.
But I haven't bothered asking a real doctor.
I diagnosed myself, of course, using the internet.
On the bright side, I have my neighbour Raelene to thank for uncovering this breaking news.
When she saw me stomping past her shop in Pembroke Mall in a disgruntled frame of mind she came outside and pointed me towards the great lemon in the sky.
In the time it took to rush back to the office, write this and file, the sun had gone.
I missed the photo.
Sorry.
