I love sleeping. Sometimes I feel that my bed is the very best place in the world. Comforting, warm and safe. I'm sure I sleep too much but I still get tired.

I once attended a training course and part of the ice-breaker was to talk about what you liked doing best. Most people came up with things like socialising, holidays, movies, cooking, painting, trekking, camping, football - the list of pleasure activities was diverse. I answered 'sleeping'. I could have tried to make myself appear interesting and say hang-gliding instead. But what the hell, I told the truth.

No-one batted an eyelid but I felt just a little bit guilty for wasting my life. In reality, i don't stay in bed very often because I have a family and lots of things that need to be done. But I know that if I was on my own I am sure that I would find it hard to make the effort and would probably sleep a lot more.

I wonder why. I have always thought that it was because I love sleeping and am a bit on the lazy side. But in understanding that I am mildly depressed, is it more an escape mechanism? Or am I missing something in my life that my comfy bed provides me?