My worst EVER CHRISTMAS

Finding herself suddenly alone, writer Lynne Wallis chose to spend the festivities doing something entirely different

- By Lynne Wallis

It was a bad argument. Our worst ever. Me and let's call him Tom had been in a long-distance relationship for 18 months and the strain was beginning to show. What about Christmas, I ventured. The bombshell came. He wasn't sure if he wanted to spend it with me. I was first devastated, then furious, and in a fit of pique, I booked a yoga and creative arts retreat on the south coast. I'll show you, I thought. I was independent before, and I can do Christmas without you. I was tearful the moment that I hit 'send' on the payment. Too late, I'd done it. Refunds weren't an option this close to the trip.

I had a gig on Christmas Eve - I sing jazz as a side hustle - and I didn't get to bed until 1am. When I started out bleary eyed for the two-hour drive early on Christmas morning, I thought, what on earth am I doing? I'd had offers to join friends, but I talked myself into thinking that a totally different Christmas, with (fingers crossed) some interesting strangers, would be better than parachuting into friends' family festivities. It was going to be OK.

I drove up to a sprawling, quirky-looking Edwardian house, a stone's throw from the sea. About 15 middle-aged women and a smattering of men were gathering as the organiser greeted me warmly and said I was just in time. They were going to do yoga! On the beach! The women seemed friendly. I avoided eye contact with the males.

The organiser introduced me to a perfectly groomed, uber-toned 40-something with a lot of facial tension. The woman smiled a rictus grin and said through gritted teeth, 'Hi I'm your roommate.' I hadn't realised I was sharing a room - it didn't say that on the booking form! Determined to keep it friendly, I joked, 'Well, I hope I don't keep you awake with my snoring!'