To everyone exiting gleefully from their educational establishments for Christmas – Yay! I’ve just finished studying too, and I’ve learnt a lot… about myself.

Back in that dim and distant time known as 2015, I embarked on a distance learning course to bag myself a marketing qualification.

Excluding the usual one day, work-related, courses that inevitably crop up (photocopier training, learning how to stay awake during budget meetings, advanced spreadsheet wrangling) this was the first "proper" bit of studying I had undertaken in over 30 years.

Last time I read a text book properly, Margaret Thatcher was prime minister, there were four TV channels and my greatest concern was if I could fit two albums on a TDK AD90 cassette.

I started off with the boldest of intentions. Instead of the sheet-of-A4 studying plan, I created a spreadsheet. Gone was the thick ruled notepad, replaced by my computer’s word processing powers.

Unlike my O and A-Levels, I was going to work hard on this, and not get distracted. About 45 minutes later, I was sharpening pencils I didn’t need, checking Twitter and rediscovering rapidly that I’m a hopeless procrastinator.

Studying sessions inevitably started late (“I’ll just finish watching this programme on TV, then I’ll crack on.”), were interrupted by a finely honed inability to concentrate (“What was that noise? I’ll just go and check – might as well make a cuppa whilst I’m downstairs.”) or got postponed (“I’ll do a double session tomorrow”).

On the plus side, I was recapturing my youth somewhat, just without the poster of Sheena Easton on the wall, or my mum telling me it was time for dinner.

I did manage to squeeze in ridiculously large amounts of high-brow reading, using cunning methods like keeping a book in the car and reading it whilst waiting for my wife’s train to arrive. (She’s doesn’t own a train, by the way.)

I had to go to Manchester for an exam, which was just as terrifying as I remembered it from school, and write assignments, which revealed that my ability to keep to a word counts has steadily worsened over the years. In parallel to my ability to retain hair on my head.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity of permanent guilt, lost evenings and weekends, and swearing loudly at a book/computer/myself in the mirror, I submitted the last piece of work last week. Presuming I don’t fail (I’m trying not to induce a panic attack by thinking about that) it’s over.

I can watch one of my dozens of TV channels with a clear conscience, as long as I can block out the large list of things I haven’t had time to do for the last year. I can relax and try and work out how to get music on to my phone and play an entire album in the right order.

I’ve learnt a great deal about myself, my ability to take on information, and how me and studying get on (quite badly, as it turns out).

Oh, and a bit about marketing.