THANK God for Ikea and Rod Bransgrove.

That’s not a sentence I ever expected to write, nor you to read I imagine, but there it is.

If it were not for these two unlikely bedfellows I would be joining the gathering throng heading for a plunge off the Itchen Bridge.

It really has been that bad.

Sympathy for journalists is about as common as a loan from a high street bank these days. But telling the stories of woe flowing from Hampshire’s high streets, industrial parks and offices these past weeks has been an unenviable task.

Like a diner confronted with a huge menu, I don’t know where to start. Only this is a toxic eatery, with dishes that leave a bitter taste in the mouth - Little Chef by Dr Crippen rather than Heston Blumenthal.

Inside you will find an eyewatering but unblinking account of massive job losses, longestablished company closures, creditors left hurting, councils ballooning and developments that had filled our hearts with hope now plunged into doubt and darkness.

It has been the toughest time I can remember and the miserable truth of it is that I don’t think the worst has happened yet. We can look forward to more, probably much more, of the same as the international economic disaster gradually trickles down into local financial pain.

Chronicling this bleak tide’s relentless washingaway of years of progress, helpless as it undermines the foundations for future success that were belatedly being laid, has been a bloody business.

And it’s difficult even to drown your sorrows, with pubs closing, being put up for sale (see page 18) and treasured favourites in apparently terminal decline (see page 5).

Woe is me and yet… Now I don’t propose to sit here and type a load of twaddle about spotting green shoots of recovery.

But there are pinpricks of light to leaven the descending gloom.

Rod Bransgrove, or Saint Rod as I will soon launch a campaign for him to be known, has shrugged off the recession and fearlessly ploughed ahead with a visionary scheme to expand the Rose Bowl.

It is almost unique among the boom-time dreams in that it is going ahead without dilution or delay.

And then the blue and yellow Swedish retail juggernaut that is Ikea steamed into town with an opening so successful it singlehandedly maintained Southampton’s position in the UK’s retail rankings despite a succession of high profile city shops disappearing forever.

Whatever you think of flatpack furniture or, for that matter, cricket, both of these developments seem to me to be founded on a belief that the good times will return.

And in these dark days, such confidence is a welcome beacon of hope.

In the words of Clive Dunn from Dad’s Army – another triumph of optimism over expectation, “Don’t panic Mr Mainwaring”.