So I found a great book today 'The Poetics of Space' by Gaston Bachelardwhich analysis the house, once inhabited. A space that shapes all other life experiences, an organic space effected by what goes on beyond its walls. "Always a container, sometimes contained, the house serves as a portal to metaphores of imagination." There is a wonderful chapter discussing how a snow storm outside makes a house seem cosier, a hurricane makes it feel safer etc. By this train of thought I have come to the conclusion that the reason I can't get out of bed is not laziness, but merely the fact that the baltic circumstanses in my flat at the minute are resulting in an exagerated version of the symptoms described above, and as a result I should stay where I am or risk cutting off the 'portal to my imagination'!