All the bad news from around the world engenders a sort of guilt. We have a drop of midweek wine on Wednesday evenings with some nice cheese and agreeable nibbly bits. We'll talk again about earthquake victims in Afghanistan, the distress of millions of American women, the mass wreckage of lives in Ukraine, all while we sit in the early evening summer sunshine watching the butterflies and bees enjoying the flowers. We might even gently complain and tut about the price of pasta. It almost seems that we lucky sods deserve a bit of bad living, just to even things up. It's a bit irrational but that doesn't stop it from seeping into your soul.