THE THREE-HOUR WEEKEND

I keep going on about the weekend, how I only got three free hours in between carolling, playing, travelling, arranging and sleeping, and how I barely ate anything because I didn't have time.

It is all my own fault.

After Beer and Carols on Friday, I woke up late and had an hour to get ready for the next thing - a trip to Chandlers Ford for a 2pm rehearsal and subsequent ceilidh.

That turned out to be a surprising break from playing Christmas tunes! Under the twinkling blue light of a glitter ball, a collection of spry folksters hopped and stepped, wove the basket and right-hand-starred to the familiar old tunes of Half Hannikin and the Morgan Rattler. There was no tinsel in sight.

I stopped off on the way home for a late-night cup of tea at the Sutton Scotney roadside McDonalds. There are few bleaker places; I'd have had a better time lost on a Scottish moor with a broken compass.

I sat in the car.

Then of course there's Sunday. But not any Sunday - the Sunday before Christmas, when everything happens. I woke up late and raced to church, looking for all the world as though I'd put my clothes on in the wrong order.

I've overloaded this season. That's why it's my fault - there's no way I should be racing around like this, feeling exhausted. My second free hour happened between 1 and 2pm, when I stuffed my face with a cornish-pastie, ironed a shirt and then collapsed into bed for an hour's catchup-sleep before getting back to church for 3pm.

I've decided that 'power-napping' is not for me.

I was so tired that I made loads of mistakes at the evening Christmas Celebration - some obvious, some not so, but equally annoying. I went away feeling as though I had done everyone a disservice by spreading myself so thinly.

Thankfully, these things are not about me and I believe everyone there had a great time.

I went home, flicked on my Christmas lights and slumped into the sofa with a Peroni and a chicken slice from the BP garage. On went Classic FM for some relaxing company.

"This is John Suchet here, hoping you're managing to get all your Christmas shopping done in between the day-to-day..." said John Suchet.

"Thanks John Suchet," I groaned, out loud.

I switched off the radio at that point and went to bed.