"Because," he said, "because" - and now, for his final diagnosis he was looking deep into my eyes - "because I think you're just a depressed Jew."Funny how knowing what you are can you make feel better. Because you have given your all and there is now nothing left to look forward to. Because - again as after love-making - the praise you long for never quite materialises Because the world does not stop on its axis. And having a novel coming out is second only, as a cause of depression, to not having a novel coming out.Why? For the same reason that men are sad after love-making. More than that, the novel I had only recently finished was about to come out. It's an occupational hazard."My wife was paying for an hour and we'd only used up 40 minutes, so bringing up the depressions incident to novel writing wasn't costing us. It wasn't the writing of novels that depressed me, I hastened to explain Indeed I loved writing novels What depressed me was finishing them And as it happened, I had only recently finished.

What if I'd been visited with those? A floater at my age, caused by a thickening of the vitreous humour - out vile jelly! - can stay with you for life. Imagine waking up to the word "hopefully" or the phrase "in terms of" inscribed on your right eyeball every morning until you die.It occurred to me that acupuncture would probably be effective against floaters too, but the thought of having needles in my eyes, to whatever effect, decided me against mentioning them. "To be honest," I said, "when I say my body what I really mean is my mind My mind's not right No novelist's mind is right. I'm punctilious about apostrophes so I wondered if the floater was punishment for pedantry, the way Macbeth's delusional dagger was punishment for villainous intent It could, I suppose, have been worse I hate "hopefully" and the phrase "in terms of". A big black apostrophe with a long tail, like a one-legged spider. Only the day before I'd been to the eye hospital to have them investigate a floater that had suddenly appeared at the periphery of my vision. But have I not said, I like being on a slant."Which part of your body particularly?"That was easy to answer My eyes.

And better that than an osteopath trained in Buchenwald using your spine like a Rubik's Cube. Any minute he'd notice I was on a slant and get his needles out If anything can straighten a man I'm sure acupuncture can. And then, "You are asking because you are depressed?""Only mildly," I laughed.He arched an eyebrow at me "What are you depressed about?"Funny question What is anybody depressed about? World poverty Global warming Iran Getting old.Out of those I chose getting old. "Getting old," I said.He pulled that face which people older than you pull when you bring up age That "I am older than you but I am not depressed" face. As though one person's absence of depression should settle the matter for someone else."My body's falling apart," I told him.Big mistake I could see him gauging my alignment. "Only mild depression, and only for some people," he said at last. "So does acupuncture work for depression?" I asked innocently.He is, my wife's acupuncturist, as befits his profession, a deliberate and painstaking man He regarded me, without speaking, for what seemed an age.

What's wrong with being on a slant? Why do osteopaths and chiropractors find it so hard to believe that people on a slant might like being on a slant? Anyway, the acupuncturist, I thought, was looking at me the same way.You learn to straighten up and change the subject when people start inspecting you like that. Apparently, to the trained (or do I mean the untrained) eye of unorthodoxy I am on a slant. Which goes to show how conventional even the most unconventional are when it comes to assessing and treating the human body. Though I share Prince Charles's enthusiasm for unorthodoxy in medicine, I have had some unfortunate experiences with chiropractors and osteopaths, most of whom cannot see me without wanting to lay me on a bed, roll me on my side, put one hand under my lower vertebrae and the other on my clavicle, then snap me into their idea of the shape I should be. Heavier bones, deeper veins, greater surface for fatigue to lodge in, etc.