What I hate most about early shifts isn’t getting up at 5.30. It’s the fact that I have to make lunch at 5.30, and cope with the smell of marmite and cheddar whilst eating my first breakfast. I quite like marmite and mature cheddar sandwiches, though there’s something about the combination in the hours before noon which make it feel like something which should rank highly on Dave Lister’s top ten of sandwich fillings.

And another thing – I don’t have a toaster. In order to get breakfast at all I need to petrify the foul bready leftovers from the previous week beneath the world’s least powerful grill. And all the while my precious tea, the only thing worth getting up for at this godforsaken time of night, is getting increasingly cold because our twattish landlords haven’t fixed our malfunctioning gas boiler yet. And why, why I ask, would you install a brand new gas boiler in an area where you know there is no mains gas and no means of getting anything other than Calor cylinders? Why not think, “I know, I’ll put an electric boiler and a fireplace in so that there’s still the possibility of heat during a powercut.”

Mornings are not my friends. Last time I went out this early I was nearly killed by a horse box. The time before it was a truck who insisted on driving too close and overestimated the ability of his breaks. I wonder what it’ll be today…