Inspired by Lisa Markwell’s 24 hour stint in London’s Duck & Waffle, “the restaurant that never sleeps”, I decided to test this at Bill’s. I spent a day at everyone’s favourite brunch venue observing the people, staff and food. Throughout my 12 hour vigil, I’ll take you through my experiences of a day in the life of one of Cambridge’s busiest restaurants, a place which gets even less sleep than the average Cambridge student.

9am: It should be a lazy Sunday morning with everyone still in bed, but Bill’s is already half full, the room humming quietly. ‘I’m the King of the Jungle’ dances out of the restaurant speakers. The demographic is far from wild, however: a mix of couples, ladies gossiping over lattes and families. No sign of any student-types yet. Probably because it’s 9am on a Sunday. My waiter, a charming man called Cameron, brings me a huge pot of tea, brewed with Bill’s own tea bags. A quaint touch.

9.30am: I look up from my table; there’s a sudden increase in noise and people. An entire family (from grandparents to grandchildren) tumble in. The young daughter orders the most popular Bill’s breakfast, a full fry-up. Bit of a waste if you ask me; the plate is nearly half her size. A couple opposite me sit in grim silence until their eggs Benedict arrive, when they both perk up noticeably. The woman puts an entire poached egg in her mouth. That was something.

10am: The manager, Rocci, pushes back some sliding doors to reveal large tables, one of which is promptly filled by a party of prams and parents. The Bill’s pancakes appear to be a popular choice among toddlers, whose mums are busy squishing blueberries into their unreceptive mouths. To my left, a child is whining for “hat choglit” – translation: ‘hot chocolate’.

10.30am: I’m moved from my table in the corner to the sofas. I’m told there are “about 30 people” queuing at the door – unbelievable how long people will queue for eggs. The sofas are a great place to do some unproductive work, tucked in a (relatively) quiet corner under the stairs, surrounded by shelves of dusty classics. A great place for people watching. A table of three teenage girls spend more time snapping pictures of their food for Instagram than they do eating it. If your brunch isn’t filtered, did it really happen at all?

11am: There’s a lot of scrambled egg and knitwear around. I’m joined by my friend Hattie who orders a cappuccino, and we become yet another pair of friends catching up in Bill’s.

11.30am: Inspired by the couple who perked up when their eggs Benedict arrived, I order the same. My brunch arrives and it’s superb. Roasted pumpkin seeds on eggs Benedict is a novelty, and even better on Bill’s homemade sourdough bread. The hollandaise – often a mayonnaise-y disappointment – is also just right, creamy but tangy.

1pm: Full fry-ups arrive at tables and return to the kitchen as empty plates. The queue is out the door. The staff haven’t taken a break between the breakfast, brunch and lunch sittings.

2pm: Lunchtimes are noticeably quieter than brunch – the atmosphere is more sedate, probably because everyone is so full. Tables start to clear, but at half-past two, there’s still a queue of at least ten people waiting to be seated. A waiter finishes his shift and has lunch accompanied by his girlfriend, a dose of PDA and ice-cream. They catch me looking at them at least twice. Embarrassed, I take a quick loo break, which lets me catch a glimpse of the kitchen – all hurry and bacon.

3pm: Robin and Connie join me for afternoon tea on the sofas. “I really love this vibe… It’s old and very worn but everything’s comfy”, Robin observes – the homeliness of Bill’s is definitely a big selling point. I order “chicken in a jar” as an afternoon snack. The portion of rich, festive chicken liver pâté is very generous, served with sourdough toast and Bill’s own chutney. Connie inhales a Bill’s green smoothie. Bill’s keeps up with the latest health trends (and fads), following the rise of restaurants like Raw Press Co.– there’s something for everyone, from the hungover to the healthy.

4pm: The atmosphere is less frantic. Waiters amble rather than trot, but David is still on his feet. As his shift ends, we chat about his work. ‘Bill’, he tells me, is a great boss, but weekend shifts are tough. Cameron whispers his guess of yesterday’s turnover to me – its impressive to say the least. Later, I can’t quite believe that people are still queuing past four o’clock. What are they here for? Lunch? Tea? Salvation?

6pm: Darkness descends; the candles are lit for an intimate glow. Sinatra croons ‘Mac the Knife’ while friends have relaxed suppers of Bill’s burgers, which my new waiter tells me is the most popular dish. The room is filled with chatter and pockets of laughter.

7pm: The same waiter gives me a sympathetic smile as I order my third glass of house rosé. A Cambridge fellow and his wife discuss his lectures. There’s much talk of “applauding students”, “very alarming” and the substantial nature of their cod fish finger sandwiches. The life of academic excellence.

8pm: I’m joined for supper by Steph and India. I have the butternut squash mac ’n’ cheese – very creamy and real comfort-food – with buttery broccoli as a side. And yet more house rosé.

10pm: India falling asleep over her food (yes, really) prompts some sniggers from the table of middle-aged double-daters behind us. It’s our cue to leave. After spending twelve hours here, I’m ready to exit and taste fresh air once more.

Despite the ever-present queue at Bill’s during the daytime, the only people who feel rushed there are the staff. It’s the sort of place that makes mums feel trendy and children spoiled, while students can eat the simple but delicious meals they miss from home. And despite being a rapidly-growing chain, the Cambridge branch of Bill’s still has a very independent and homely feel to it. It’s not hard to see why it’s so popular. I might even queue for their eggs Benedict next time.