There's a 3.45 in the morning these days.

I should know. I've had to set my alarm for it three days this week. Clean teeth, throw on nearest clothes, make coffee and then straight into the shiny new used Zoner-mobile and off to work for the ICC Super Series One Day Internationals. It takes about half an hour to swish across most of London at that deserted hour but what really makes it enjoyable is that I've off to do this fantastic job, punting someone else's money.

And this week has been great. Although the ICC World XI has been thoroughly smashed up by the Australians the cricket has been entertaining enough to a bleary man on his own in an office at 5.20 am. The market has been at times utterly bonkers and as a result even a half-witted chancer like our hero has been able to win a small fortune for his employers.

This won't continue. Before too long I'll be doing the midnight-7 am graveyard shift, watching deeply one-sided Test matches which will doubtless be devoid of value. It will be very cold and grey and I'll be trying to drive home in the rush hour and keep my eyelids open. I've already lost control of my diet and must get it back as soon as possible. March sounds about right. (In fact I think I vowed to come home today and go for a run, which of course means I'm playing a 900 runner poker tournament and blogging, two great wastes of time.) If I bloat again I think I'll top myself.

Worst of all I will have almost no social life. This is my winter work schedule and it isn't pretty. So much midnight or 4 am cricket which means no time to meet friends, enemies or girls. Since Jude and I split I've realised how much I missed out on when I didn't have a girlfriend (i.e. all the rest of the time) and how I need to at least try for a while to meet someone else. But you can't date someone before driving off to go to work. Can you? Of course being me I won't meet anyone, or won't make the right advances, or just bottle it like I normally do.