The Lost Art of Taking a Holiday

I don't know many people who would feel this tired after a holiday. But I'm pretty sure all of them reside here in the Po. I took two weeks off to recover some of my soul, which long ago fell asleep at the wheel. But first task was to live through the daily 7am rise for the morning interview based radio programme. Just one more week then the regular host gets back. That's ok, but no more EVER. Just one more? Next week? Well...OK. But my chances of getting any more time off in return are nil. The next obstacle to having time for little old me was that two out of three of my monthly rostered jobs fell within these weeks. Sure, I can swap, but that whole process is far more stressful than it's worth. Also, my biggest source of stress running this night time radio show is covering all the shifts, a responsibility that was still placed upon me. And still caused a phenominal amount of pain. Not to mention the wedding plans, which were the focus of my 'restful' stay with my parents. And then there was staying up to watch that appalling Aus v Italy match.

I spent nine hours last night doing a small favour.

So don't ask me how my holiday was.