In Edinburgh, not having a depression, no, this is a feeling and when you have a feeling you don't have depression. With depression you feel nothing, dead, frozen inhuman. There is no reason for this sadness; I'm doing my show, it's full, I don't forget my lines so all's good on that front. One of my adages is that it's not worth mentally hunting around for why you're sad; your body gives you information, your mind scrambles for an explanation, usually wrong because we've only got few thousands words and over 50,000 feelings. It's like translating Spanish and you only have the word "Tapas."

What happened to me is not the reason for my mood but I'm sure it contributed. My first night here I was invited to a dinner mainly for scientists who are up here doing a radio show. I'm placed next to Brain Cox and something inside me wilts because I know I am sitting next to a superior being and he will soon find out I'm a two-celled worm. I am next to someone who knows what happened to make the big bang, he sees atoms and electrons and even knows what they are. He doesn't think about things that I, a mere mortal does, like whether or not there is food on my teeth, and death. To me he is greater than any rock star squared.

You could say this is my imagination - and I know it is - but it's all I've got. This is my trigger, if I'm near someone that smart, I tailspin into the interior pre-recorded CD made in childhood that goes something like this, "You're a total idiot and people will find out that you're an idiot." (It's repeated many times). It was an early recording from around the time I came in last in my class in finger painting at nursery school. I also did not get into the swing of potty training till way after the time it was considered chic.

So there I was, hair-raised because the guy sitting next to me is (I have not gone on spell check which I usually have to every two words) a motecular genicist, astro physist, evolutionary something particale physisit, neruimmunionpiginy, quantum electrocardiologist with some string thrown in, he's beautiful and looks ten years old. At first I try to pull out something from the empty space called my brain; I give it my best shot. I say, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, "If there are infinite parallel universes meaning there are zillions of me's, how am I able to put food in my mouth with one fork?" He actually didn't look at me as if I was a dead bug I think he may have thought I knew something he didn't so he responded with something about fractals and particles, that I can exist here but also there. I laughed and said of course I know that and then began to sing show tunes from "Annie Get Your Gun" because Robin Ince, another genius on the other side of me, told me Brian liked those songs. I could tell Brian was confused but amused and then his wife phoned and among other things said she was thrilled I was next to her husband and told him to take a selfie. We pose for the photo and I don't want his head to touch mine in case I pass my idiocy into his.

Thank God I happened to have one of those small blow up Pilates balls in my bag so I put it to my mouth and blew it up for the shot. Brian held up a candle representing the sun or Lady Macbeth, I'm not sure. Anyway after the ice breaker we were fine. He told me about how nothing much happened on the earth for 3.7 billion years and then about 600,000 years ago when there was finally enough oxygen, a cell filled with mitochondria (I nodded as if I knew) from some piece of fungi started to breath in oxygen while another cell breathed out methane (I'm sure I got that wrong) and so complexity began and then he went all the way up to how us was formed. I had no cards to play because I knew I was that cell breathing oxygen but not much more.

I do have some features; I'm a good listener and can be extremely funny when I'm not nervous. So now he's included some older guy across from us in into the conversation about some LE173 gene that they found which determined how far that complex cell would migrate from central Africa to Egypt and the guy says how many of these LE438's could get that far? He asks me what I do and out of my mouth before I can pull the brakes out comes, "Model/actress". He laughs, I don't know why, and I'm thinking this guy is a mortal like me just listening to the Master speak but then Brain or Brian tells me this is the world's leading cosmologist. I shrivel. Carlos Frenk (look him up on You Tube, I did and almost choked to death). I didn't even understand his opening line, then holding up a squiggle on a piece of paper he told us in the language of math (which I do not speak) to take fluctuating space and multiply it by time. That was later, when I go home - but now, in the restaurant, he tells me that he was on a plane and was asked what he did, he said cosmologist and the person said, "Do you think I need a face lift?" I didn't think that was funny because that's what I would have asked. Then it gets worse he asks me where I think he comes from. I'm sweating. I say Hungary, no Brazil, to help me he tells me it's 29th latitude and 36 longitude so then I give up saying, "Ok you must be Mexican" and yes, that's what he is. Bingo. I then start to show off asking what town and I reel off Spanish names some of them are in Argentina but by now he thinks I'm funny so I'm riding high on my stupidity. At the end of the night I think I got a D for effort. I went home and, as I said, Youtubed Carlos Frenk all night until the electricity ran out and I woke up knowing nothing, nothing. This re-telling of my evening is not about wanting your pity; this is just a sharing of the inner landscape of my mind or whatever's in there. Thanks.

I'm in Edinburgh with my Sane New World Tour this week and I'll be touring the UK this Autumn. You can find full details here.

I feel under siege, everything feels like an emergency from the fear we're on the cusp of a World War to the fact I missed my dentist appointment and he's going to charge me for it. Why am I so strung out?

I'm sure in the past I wasn't this panicked. Back then when kids played in the yard, dad came home, put on his slippers while Spot the dog brought him the papers and Mom was cooking up a meatloaf that couldn't be beat. Maybe back then we were all in our right minds. But now there's no time to stop and smell the meatloaf - the busy-ness is too busy, frazzling us all.

These days if mom is making a meatloaf, she's furious because she just got back from the office after working 12 hours straight plugged into her computer, a slave to her inbox. The more she answers, the more they breed into the thousands and now she has to cook a meatloaf? There is no rest. Where the hell is her husband? Why can't he do it? After dinner she reads that the meatloaf will eventually clog your veins with fat and kill you. On top of this new scare story she is already worrying that the kids are on ketamine or cutting themselves because of the pressure of getting into Oxford by the time they're 13. In this world our innocent little brains are never at rest from wave after wave of shock and horror. If you sit down at the TV what will you see? I'm not talking about some vampire death orgy TV show where everyone's necks get sucked out by the first ad break. That's a great show and really no different from old West shootouts we used to watch as kids.

I'm talking about the news. If God forbid you accidentally hit a news channel, you will be invited to see, in close up, not just a report there's been a plane crash but the camera goes right into the homes, up the stairs, into the bathrooms of the victims' relatives for a close up as they cry into the lens and plead to their dead loved ones. It seems to have become really important that we don't just hear about a disaster, we have to be close enough to smell it. Now the camera has to film the corpses then pan up into a close up of a wailing mother.

Finally, we snap back to the newscaster with smiling teeth on top of an exposed cleavage the length of the Nile giving us "What a tragedy, the victims suffered ninth degree burns and some limbs were found 3,000 miles away from the wreckage. A dog was heard barking and that's the news for tonight, see you tomorrow morning where we'll chose the final entrée for pie of the week." You are left shaken and mortified from seeing all the suffering and your little brain registers that pain as if it happened to your own children.

We all have mirror neurons that pick up other people's suffering, this is why everyone cries at the same time in a cinema. If you don't believe me, just try sitting in front of the screen of Toy Story turn around and watch what the audience does when the girl cowboy sings. Wonderfully, frustratingly, terrifyingly, we're all in this together. The madness will continue until we realise we have to stop looking, turn off the TV, burn the newspapers when there's some hope, privacy and only watch things we can do something about rather than sit helpless watching the disasters unfold.

I'm on tour again this autumn with Sane New World - my guide to keeping sane in a busy world. You can also catch me in Edinburgh at the Assembly Rooms 1 - 7 August. Full details are over here.

One thing I really will never recover from is the realization that I am an adult as in a grown up person. I never thought this would happen. I only realized when one day I was called 'ma'am' instead of 'miss'.

When exactly did this 'ma'am' transformation happen, what was the giveaway? Getting old is something that happens to other people, not me. I know at one point I saw visible evidence of aging (dark circles) around the eye area and almost immediately had them hoiked. Wrinkles can be de-wrinkled in minutes thanks to the miracle of dermatology and so as far as my constant battle with aging I believe I am winning, on the outside anyway, I can't speak for my insides. Several hundred birthdays ago I was slightly drunk during my speech and asked all my 'then' friends "What happened to all of you? You look so old have I been in a coma?" Some of them are no longer speaking to me. I then fell forward into my chocolate cake and had to be lifted out by the hair.

Clearly I'm in complete denial. Recently a woman told me she had three adult children and I responded with incredulous disbelief, "You have three kids?" It was my girlfriend who pointed out, so did I. It seems other people know how to act like thing called a grown up. Having coffee mornings where they don't digress from the topic of 'the children.' I know women in their 40s still blathering about how long their delivery took. Get over it! Exchanging phone numbers for kids party entertainers who in the spirit of wackiness pull live rabbits out of their pants. My idea of hell are those cocktail parties my parents used to have where you stand holding a drink and make small talk about absolutely nothing. I never know how or when you're supposed to end one conversation and then move on and start again. I wish we could be as honest as when we were kids and just blurt, "I want to go home I don't like you."

Dress-wise I go for the 14-16 year old range. I borrowed my daughter's thong - I can no longer find it. I'm going to need miners to go in there and dig it out. My look is Nikes and skinny jeans even though my stomach hangs over the top like a tutu made of flesh. My behind is on permanent display but at least I don't have to look at it. If I'm this deluded now imagine when I really hit the skids, I'll be the one wearing my incontinence pads at a jaunty angle and body surfing on my Zimmer frame. Wish me luck.

I'm on the road again this Autumn, and in Edinburgh this summer. You can find details here!

I don't know when it started but I've recently noticed when I'm talking to someone they don't ask me one question, not one. I don't even want to talk about me but for God's sake I'm sitting in front of them aren't they embarrassed that they're taking up all the airtime? I exist, I am not just a mirror to reflect them back to themselves nor part of some sound-check. I find I'm suddenly cast in the role of 'interviewer' filling in the blank spaces when they're done with their answer and expecting the next question. Do I look like I'm interested in the fact their kid can't figure out what he wants to do for a living at age eight or that the builders put the sink in upside down?

I want to hold up a sign that says, "Gaza Strip, you idiot, get real." When did everyone lose his or her curiosity? I count how many times they use the word 'me' and if it's ten out of ten, I delete them from my contacts list. The only time I don't mind a monologue is either when someone's being hilarious or when someone needs to talk about something deeply problematic even if I never met them before. I got in a random taxi a few days ago and the driver asked me to sign a book. I thought it was his. It turned out to be my book (I'd never seen it without the jacket). He then tells me it's good I got in his cab (like that was planned) because he always wanted to talk to me. For the next hour he unloaded how he felt, his mind in a thick fog accompanied by screaming abusive voices in his head and what did I think was wrong with him? He then got lost and was driving in circles (luckily he turned off the meter). I asked him if he's was on medication, he told me he wanted to try and get better without them. I said that he had severe depression, it's not his imagination he is really ill with something he can't wilfully snap out of. His attitude to drugs was like finding out he has cancer and he's passing on the chemo. Now, I call that a great conversation; it was real and had a point. I hope I helped, I know I woke him up from his delusion.

On the other end of the spectrum, I had a dinner party last week where I invited a few famous people I knew from when I did my interview shows. Many of them suffer from something I call 'movie star disease.' They live in their own time zone so when invited to dinner at seven they either come in at eleven with no apology or not at all. When they do finally arrive it's expected that non-famous people shut up mid sentence to give full attention and look enthralled. On the hierarchy of famous (though I worked in television and may be considered famous by some) I am protoplasm. In these relationships it's implicit that I am the interviewer and I know that's the deal so no surprises. I'm ashamed to admit that probably like other 'non-fames' when faced with an A-lister, I slightly go into that nervous, heart pumping arousal, turning myself inside out to amuse. I'm sure it's a throw back to when I was a looser in High School and when the Prom Queen deemed to look at me I'd start metaphorically tap dancing until exhausted to get her approval, I never did. One of the great pleasures in my life is now knowing that the Prom Queen is ensconced in re-hab. I think I'm happier with taxi drivers.

Every morning I drag myself from sleep (it's so hard especially when I've been starring in my own dream and I've been a hit) to sitting up on my pillow to do 20 minutes of mindfulness.

Every morning I think why am I doing this because when I look in at my thoughts it's never a pretty sight?

In the beginning of the sitting, I usually hunt around for something that pisses me off because I'm addicted to anger and it feels so familiar when I get that wild, fire in my veins.

This morning I found my victim in the first few moments to stoke my fury.

Some friend of a friend came to my house a few nights ago and spilled wine all over my carpet.

Not a tiny splatter, she swamped it, covering a three foot area.

How you do that, I do not know? I start to fuel up with that old well-known feeling; rage.

As I sit there, every cell of my body is itching to reach for the computer to write a vitriolic email informing her she has to pay for the stain removal or I will either sue or kill her.

I try to focus on my breath but I'm so stuck in my habit, my mind drags me back to the girl and the stain and my need to eliminate her.

Just as I think it's over I find myself reaching for the phone to scream and rant at her.

I pull my focus back to the sensation of breathing.

Eventually I feel the anger subside and my need to murder pass, not completely, it fluctuates in intensity, it comes and goes, sometimes harsh then light, then gone.

Now I have a choice, I can either fuel it some more or let it go.

It's usually at this point, I get angry with myself for having these impulses so I now I get caught in the thoughts of how bad I am as a person and at doing mindfulness.

The thing that eventually makes me stay there for 20 minutes of war going on in my head is knowing even if I can't remove the thoughts of stains in my head then the very act of noticing is good enough.

The point isn't to try and clear my mind or to forgive the stain-maker but to just notice I'm stuck and usually when you notice you become unstuck.

Here is this week's #AskRuby , if you need any more answers let me know your questions

1. Do you think counselling helps when in the midst of depression, or is it better left til later? 

To me, when you’re in the midst of depression your mind has been evacuated there’s no one at home. In those times you wouldn’t know therapy if it came up and hit you on the head.

2. @MichelHeller: best book/article/class you recommend for beginners to mindfulness? I've read #sanenewworld and I want to learn more. Thx.

“Mindfulness: Finding Peace in a Frantic World” by Mark Williams. He was my professor at Oxford, one of the founders of Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy, a genius and humble. (Rare combo). 

3. @missmusical3 : Did you experience depression as a child?

Yes, but back then no one knew that it existed, they checked my blood so many times hunting for a physical illness, I was sucked dry. 

4. @elenwebbpage : having trouble reconciling planning for the future and practicing living in the present - any tips?

You have to plan for the future or nothings going to happen, you’ll grind to a halt and sometimes it’s good to be present, to give yourself a gift for all that planning.

5. @WreckReceiver : Do you think happiness is overrated?

I think happiness means getting a burst of dopamine or endorphins and it feels so good, then it’s over as quick as it started, then you spend all your time ‘chasing the dragon’ for an even bigger hit and it’s just exhausting.

Well, this mindfulness thing seems to be taking off, which I never expected. When I first went to Oxford three years ago to get my masters in MBCT (mindfulness-based cognitive therapy) I wouldn't tell anyone what exactly I was studying I thought it sounded fluffy. I would say I was studying science and then just mumble the 'm' word. Now it seems to have become the zeitgeist.

But like all zeitgeists it may swing the other way. People may start making mindfulness perfumes or dressing in white mindfulness turbans with recordings of 'ting ting' sounds plugged into their ears.

On the other hand, the positive results of practicing mindfulness, for even a short while can be seen loud and clear in a brain scanner and this isn't fluffy. Empirical evidence shows that cortisol and adrenaline lower because the activity in the amagdala (the alarm system of the brain) is calmed (which in turn brings down the stress hormones.)

We need some sort of braking system because in this culture we live with the constant anxiety of not having enough, fear of the future and the mania to stay busy. If there is no 'off' switch you won't just get stressed they'll contribute to certain cancers, diabetes 2, heart disease, obesity, infertility, mental illness. (You get the idea.) This is the only reason I began my studies otherwise I would have hugged a tree (not really).

Anyway, the point is last week I went to the launch of the All Party Parliamentary Group on mindfulness in the Houses of Parliament. The panelists included professionals in criminal justice, mental health, education, journalism, politics, four school children and (get this) me. There they were, MPs, Lords and Baronesses and me. (I wish my parents could see this their, heads wouldn't just spin, they'd fall off.) The day ended in applause from the 'big wigs'.

The kids were the most effective and touching. A twelve year old said that before he starts an exam or something taxing, he just sits and feels his breath waiting for his brain to clear until he feels his anxiety fade. Imagine if everyone knew this? We might reduce the number of people, especially kids from burning out in the name of getting and A+.

I offer my book “Sane New World” as an antidote to Christmas for those of us who don’t feel jolly, and I suspect there are far more people out there who won’t admit to it and smear on a cheery face.  ‘Tis not a season to be jolly,’ tis a season to have a nervous breakdown from buying gifts in a stampede of The Crazed; catching the madness like a virus from everyone out there so you end up buying things no one will ever want, like a pitchfork. 

It’s an alternative to Christmas book for those of us who hold onto our sanity for dear life at this most insane day of the year. Sending Christmas cards to people who do not send you one back is a one-way ticket to a mood disorder.    There you are preparing the turkey, broken and bitter, stuffing stuff into some bird’s ass as you watch your life go by and no one will even remember that you stuffed it. You end up so out of it you don’t know if you’re stuffing the turkey or your brother-in-law. And to make things worse, you know you’re slaving over something that will go in one end and out the other. 

 There is nothing more upsetting then buying someone a cashmere scarf and getting a candle. That is what you mean to them- a candle – a social leper. I usually wrap up the gifts each person gave me the year before with a card that says’ same to you’.  When you buy presents you try to pick a price based on how much someone means to you and that always changes moment-to-moment. And then there are the people you need favours from.  I always send a big gift to my banker hoping it will stop him ripping me off for the coming year. The worst is counting down on New Years Eve to ‘1’ and not feeling that erection of exhilaration like everyone else when the fireworks go off; that’s when I know to go into my closet and not come out till February.  I think I’ve finally cracked it now I go far away each Christmas and come back looking surprised saying “Oh did I miss something? Sorry.”

We are all looking for happiness unless of course we’ve already got it and blessed are those few that have. This is why we have so many self-help books, enough now to cover the equator 78 times.  Have you read ‘The Secret?’ 80 million copies sold. Page one informs you that ‘the secret,’ was handed down to us by the ancient Babylonians and clearly it worked for them that’s why there’s so many running around.  You can’t move with all the Babylonians living in London.

I'm talking about this word parenting, of which I know nothing.  Even though my lower half has been used as a channel tunnel for 3 new arrivals... I still know nothing. Yes, I've had three, count those stretch marks. Even the word Parent fills me with fear and loathing...I remember when I'd hear, "Wait until your parents find out, boy is your bottom going to be whipped…" No, not my parents. Please here take my fingernails, I'll tweek them out myself, just don't tell my parents.