Huh? What time is it? 5:30? Bugger, I’ve overslept. Need porridge and coffee, pronto. 6:20?! Need to stop stubbornly insisting on porridge and coffee. Hold on – maybe it’s yellow flag! Please be yellow flag, please be yellow flag, please be yellow flag.

It’s never yellow flag.

Where’s my kit? What’s that smell? Oh my god. Seriously what is that? When did I last wash this? Best not to dwell on that. Do I have time to go to the loo? Absolutely not. Right, go. Self-conscious jog to bike-rack. Where’s my bike? There. Where’s my bike-lock key?

Oh for f***’s sake. Sprint back to college. Second time lucky. I am Sir Bradley Wiggins. Does the sodding M&S lorry driver have a bounty on my head? I’m cold already. Which psychopathic sadomasochist invented the Jesus Green bicycle gate system?

One at a time. Christ. I wish other humans were up to see me in my kit. Might wear it to lectures. Do the boathouses really have to be so far from college?

Dismount. Hands are too cold to operate my bike-lock. Sit in boathouse with crew and gaze into space, pondering life. Is 6 here yet? Where is 6? Someone ring 6. I bet he’s in bed. He’ll be in bed. Sleeping. Arse. He’s still in bed? Brilliant. Well I’m not erging, we erged yesterday. He’ll be here in ten minutes? Sure. Better get the boat out.

Customary anointing of feet in swan poo. 6 is here, conveniently. Everyone passive-aggressively ignores 6. Finally, rowing. I could be sleeping now.

The Cam is actually quite beautiful. Non-rowers (mere mortals, I call them) will never see sunrise on the Cam. Ha-ha. Smug self-satisfaction. Sleep is for the weak. I kind of need a wee.

Cambridge is definitely colder than the rest of England. Why is this? How long will it take until I can see my abs? I wonder if Marxist-Leninist canal-boatman will be up today. What’s he been up to lately?

Ergh – I’ve just swallowed some water – not going to help the whole needing-a-wee situation. Oh god. I’m going to get Weil’s disease. I am going to die of Weil’s disease. What is Weil’s disease? It sounds fairly unpleasant. Oof – caught a crab. Stop thinking about Weil’s disease and concentrate on rowing.

Quite tired now. Hopefully we’ll spin at the reach. Are we spinning? Nope, we’re going to the lock. I. Am. Desperate. Didn’t even have much to drink. Water, water, everywhere, but not a spot to relieve myself. Stop thinking about aged seamen, it’s probably not helping. I’m cold. At least we’re not doing pieces today. We’re doing pieces today? Who says? The cox has no authority over the coach.

Coach, why would you betray me? Every stroke is now squeezing my bladder. Rhythmically – that makes it worse. This is torture.

Right, we’re spinning. Just got to make it back to the boathouse. Distract yourself. Wonder how much that house is worth. Mental note to Zoopla it (other property websites are available). Probably has loads of bathrooms. With toilets in them.

Forgot the reach is the Cam’s version of the M25. If we have to “easy there” one more time. This level of self-denial must be unhealthy. On many levels. My poor, poor bladder. I am soaking already. No one would really notice... No. This is how whole civilisations fall. Pull yourself together.

And we’re back. Don’t really need to go anymore actually. If I cycle home quickly I can have second breakfast. Missed breakfast. I’ll skip Intensive Greek and just go to lectures at 11. How do people with 9ams do this? Need a shower.

Oh, have a bath, treat yourself. May as well skip lectures again today, in that case. Hugh Laurie rowed and got a Third. Look at him now. Priorities.