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Christmas rolls around and once more, I find myself humbled by the shower of gifts bestowed upon me from some of my dearest clients, jewellery; books; champagne; lunches; dinners and generous tips, 'To go buy yourself something nice Frances:' what a charming life this is.

There was also the offer of a weekend shopping trip to Paris, unfortunately my band The Frantastics, had previously been booked to play a corporate gig that same weekend. No matter, the offer still stands for sometime in the New Year.

I did notice, I guess what with the current recession, there wasn't so many 'Office Parties' this year and so found myself less busy than usual in the week running up to the Christmas break, with clients skiving off from their office party to pay me a visit.

However, this was to be a blessing as I spent much of December staying over at the Princess Alice Hospice, nursing and amusing my dear friend Samantha, the original bass player in my band.

Mine isn't a Monday to Friday 9 till 5 routine, it's more like Monday to Sunday, 9am till late, how late depends on how busy my day may or may not have been?

Occasionally, I'll turn in as early as 10pm and snuggle down with a good book, though the phone might stay on: visiting a hotel after midnight brings a heightened sense of decadence, it's also fun to have sex in a different environment to the one I'm use to. Oh...and let's not forget the toiletries to be had.

It appears that this year I've attracted several clients, all of whom are early risers, or rather, have early stirrings. On such occasions, I'll stay over at the Office the night before, saving myself the twenty-minute drive from HQ (that's twenty more minutes in bed), they're usually good enough to arrange with me the night before.

And so, one of my resolutions for this coming New Year is to rise half an hour to an hour earlier, as I like to have already showered, checked my mail and had breakfast (a smoothie) before the phone starts ringing, that little lot usually takes an hour.

I also put my hands up and admit that still after all these years, I have that bloody nagging Catholic guilt about rising at the hour I do. I mean, it's not like I have more than eight or nine hours in bed anyway.

I recently had a friend stay over and share my dangerously seductive, sumptuous bed at HQ, we spent thirteen hours in it and we didn't even have sex, that's how cosy and alluring that bed is.

And so ends another year: the candles are snuffed out, the lights switched off and the door of the Office closed. Wishing you my dear reader, a Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

What I'm reading in bed...

A Christmas Carol: Charles Dickens.