29/03/2017 12:35 BST | Updated 29/03/2018 06:12 BST

F Is For Fit Benedict (An A-Z Index of Bad Dates, Exes & Aubergine Emojis)

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This week, I learnt the importance of taking a day off. As a freelancer, my mind is constantly on the go. Am I earning enough this month to cover all my bills? Have I written enough new material? Have I watched enough comedy? Who should I contact to get in at Comedy Central? Did I prepare enough material for that talking head show? How do I get to Hereford on Friday? Who can I contact to get the word out there about my show in Guildford? Have I earned enough to cover the cost of PR for this show? Speaking of, what have they got me? Have I written enough articles for them to work with?

Yesterday, I did something no millennial (am I a millennial? I'm 30) should do. I turned off my phone from 8pm on Sunday night, all the way through to 9am Tuesday morning. I stuck on an out of office and I had what PAYE people call a weekend.

I can't believe the effect it has had on me. Toward the end of last week, I realised that I hadn't had a day off since Christmas and it was obvious that that was the reason why I hated my current position.

On Saturday and Sunday, I got all the admin done I needed to do, finished the writing I had to do for a TV show, edited my upcoming Edinburgh Fringe show notes from Thursday's work in progress and went to the radio interviews I had scheduled in. Then, I clocked off.

I went to the gym, I went to see Power Rangers at the cinema with pick 'n' mix that weighed in at £11.75, I got home, went to sleep and slept for eight hours. I woke up Monday morning, went back to the gym, went to visit my friend Jade and her two babies, came home and watched Season two of The Hills, then my BFF and fellow Sainsburys alum (that's right I'm using alum here as we learnt A LOT there) Sara came over for curry and then I got in bed and watched all the soaps.

I cannot tell you how happy this 39 hours off made me. I woke up feeling like a phoenix that was rising from the ashes. Raring to go. Excited for the week and the stuff I have ahead. My hobby became a job and I have to take the best bits of both surely? The bits I love, they're what I get to call my job now but also managing it like a business.

Also, not having to see some faux-amaro-filtered-perfect-that's-really-not-so-perfect life on Instagram was powerful. I was in the real world. Grass feels way better than it looks. I also ate mini eggs in the garden.

I got back to my phone though and this week we've got to F for 'Fit Benedict'.

Okay, let's break this down, Fit Benedict. Clearly, this is not technically an "F", however, I have saved him in my phone as this and I think it counts.

Now, the next bit, which I should totally be doing a BBC 'dramedy' about. I have no recollection of ever meeting him. Only one of two things has happened. One, this was whilst my phone was under the care of Drunk Stevie. He is not to be trusted. He usually makes an appearance and possesses normal, loving Stephen after about three glasses of vino blanc. Two, there is no two. I was just trying to make myself seem sane and rationale and not at all like a binge drinker.

Naturally, I am fascinated by who Fit Benedict is. What kind of name in 2017 is Benedict? Where is he from? Where did I meet him? When did I meet him? And just how fit is he? Why would I have let this go. Normally, I treat love like a military assignment, just call me the Camp Cadet. Is he gay or straight?

Obviously, I did some detective work. Did you know that if you put a phone number into the Facebook search bar, it brings up the person that phone number is connected to? Guys, it works like eight times out of 10. I found him.

Guess what, Benedict IS fit. Drunk Stevie and just normal me have exactly the same taste. How bonkers is that?

I think this blog post might be a to be continued, because guess what I've done. I've only bloody text him...