Shortly after the submission of my thesis, I struck upon a cunning plan in which I would chronicle the countdown to my viva with much sagacity and wisdom.

Alas, as the dreaded day creeps closer – five days – with all the stealth of an eight-year-old pilfering a cookie jar, I realise that my pearls of wisdom have broken free from their string and are clattering across the marble floors at dizzying angles.

This is particularly alarming for the sometime Queen of Exams. Sure, I detest them with a vengeance and would gladly surrender one front tooth in lieu of four hours in an examination hall, but equally, I unhesitatingly whip out the high-lighters two months in advance and recite notes in the supermarket, bus, bathroom, and dinner table.

So what went wrong? It all started with an asthma inhaler and a brief rain-storm and ended with tonsillitis and a bad cold.

The four-year-old dream in which I gracefully stalk into the exam room on teetering heels, exuding coy professionalism with bouncy frizz-free hair has been replaced by snivelling, a hacking cough, red-eyes, electrocuted bed-hair, and a croaky man-voice that wouldn’t sound amiss in a prison drag-queen gala.

Aside from the viva, I cannot revise for fatigue and my most notable achievement so far has been defacing my pristine thesis with multi-coloured post-it notes [above].

What once resembled a tome of academic accomplishment now resembles a thirteen-year-old’s diary, complete with a plethora of frantically scribbled “huh?!” in the margins, as I recognised grievous mistakes from the early days of my doctorate.

Ultimately, then, what once would have been pompously titled Surviving the Viva shall henceforth be known less fantastically as Surviving Your Viva with Fever and No Preparation.

And so I read frenetically and ponder all the possible questions; afterall, it is my work I am defending, so who knows it better?

Ha! Optimism – an additional side-effect of Panadol and cold-relievers…