It's twenty past nine, and I've been up for three and a third hours. This is a sin against nature.
To get into work on time without a moped, I have to catch the 7:01 train (which sometimes leaves three or four minutes early, helpfully) from the little local station round the corner from our house, to Bristol Temple Meads. I then need to wait twenty minutes for a bus, which gets me to the vicinity of St Brad's at 7:30. (I'm not paid to be here till 8:30, but the next train / bus combo wouldn't get me in till very nearly 9.)
If this was the early 1990s, I wouldn't even be awake yet. At university I used to go to bed at 2 or 3 -- much later, often, if I had a lot of work and / or partying to do. There was one particularly keen student living in the same building as me who semi-regularly got up before I went to bed. She ended up becoming a policewoman, which just goes to show what early-morning living does to you.
I managed to go my entire undergraduate career without -- despite my best intentions -- ever attending a single lecture, because the English Faculty insisted on holding them in the mornings.
I sometimes wonder whether going to the lectures might have made the difference between my 2:1 and a First, but failing some time-travel experiment going hopelessly awry, we'll never know.