Monday mornings. Brilliant, aren't they? Self-employment has turned me into a Scrooge-like figure. Whilst friends mourn Sunday nights and the loss of the weekend I'm celebrating in egar anticipation of the new working week. Bank holidays are a nuisance which hampers productivity. Don't even get me started on Christmas. My office hours are 24/7, the phone doesn't stop ringing and I'm addicted to checking my email. I've turned my back on my rat race-enduced love of Friday and Saturday nights out and the vultures who surface with them. The comfort of a monthly pay cheque is a distant memory, blurred by stresses of paying the rent and scraping together enough cash to take advantage of the latest round of Tesco reduced bakery items. The excitment of leaving the office early, the wonder of sick pay and the constant battles with inept co-workers are simply lost on this cold heart. If Tiny Tim was here right now I'd probably kick his little head in.