SO WHAT makes people depressed? According to an article in one of our national newspapers, the one that likes to worry us about our health when it is not building us up into a state of righteous agitation about everything, the list can be quite long.

For those who may have missed this worrisome essay, here is the digested read. This is what we should avoid: hot weather, the pill, doughnuts, street lights, tea and coffee, blood pressure pills, cigarettes, having an overactive thyroid, the internet, a veggie diet, procrastinating, the Atkins diet and cosmetic surgery.

What a litany of crippling concerns that is. Anyone exposed to all those triggers would have cause to feel depressed. So, too, might a normally cheerful person who chanced on the article while innocently going about their business; or possibly devoured its weighted words while seeking inspiration for their own weekly column.

I am tempted to write that when I began to corral these thoughts, it was a hot morning. The doughnut was sticky in my trembling hand as I leaned against the street light for support, pausing only to swallow blood pressure pills washed down with coffee stronger than spilt oil. The dry nut-roast in my mouth soon made way for a meaty carbohydrate-free breakfast, consumed while scanning pages on the internet as I fretted about whether or not to have my frown surgically removed.

But that would be silly.

Incidentally, I have left out the cigarettes because it’s been half a lifetime since one of those ignited in my mouth, the pill for reasons of biology, and the thyroid complaint because it seems a bit serious to make jokes about. As for the procrastination, the writing of this week’s column was postponed until the last possible deadline-hugging moment; so will that do?

All this fretfulness stirred a couple of thoughts. We seem too attuned to the potential lack of wellbeing nowadays. It is hard to open a newspaper or turn on the television without finding something to worry about.

These are not necessarily the important matters such as war, poverty, the reality or otherwise of global warming and whether or not David Cameron will one day spontaneously combust in a greasy haze of self-satisfaction (please pardon the indulgent fantasy here). No, instead we are presented with an endless rolling checklist of everything that might go wrong with our health.

It is telling that almost everything on the ‘depression list’ was a matter of choice. This is key to those who deal in worries for a living. If it’s our fault, then guilt can be dripped over the grey porridge of our lives like honey spun from the naughty spoon.

Personally, I find articles about health fascinating and frustrating. They appeal to my inner hypochondriac, yet their neurotic nagging causes irritation. Do we really need to know the many ways in which our bodies and minds can betray us; or is blissful ignorance the best medicine?

The article about depression was a lightly cooked and easy read based on a skim through serious medical research.

True depression is a serious matter, and worthy of discussion. No arguing with that.

The trouble is, something else that depresses me – in the misused sense of annoys me a bit – are articles about what causes depression.

Now where did I put that other doughnut?

• THE list of national shops we have lost in York continues to grow. Some I once liked. Borders was great, until it lost its way; Oddbins in the early days was a marvel, and for a while boasted a banner-like quote from a former wine writer on this paper; Habitat used to be good (thanks for the CD racks, Mr Conran, they remain just what we need). I’ve left off Woolworths because I never much liked it, although others did.

These ghosts will be exorcised by new arrivals, but their emptiness will haunt us for a while.

Sometimes I feel guilty about not spending enough of the money I don’t have. But not often.