LIAM TANCOCK chooses his holidays by the shape of the hotel swimming pool. Lagoon pool, leisure pool, kidney-shaped, anything but rectangular, the shape of his office. “Just for a couple of weeks, I don’t want to see a proper pool,” he says.

Tancock is that great British rarity, a world record-holder and genuine medal contender in the pool in Beijing. His 50m world record in the backstroke, recorded on the first leg of the 200m at the Olympic trials this summer, and his gold in the world short-course championships in Manchester have raised his profile so dramatically, he has become a celebrity at St James Park, home of his beloved Exeter City, and a rival to Tom Daley of Plymouth, the young diver, as the most likely West Country hero in Beijing.

“I’m proud to be an Exeter boy, proud to be just a normal guy,” he says. The 23-year-old is passionate about his sport and knows that Olympic swimming champions hold a particular place in the nation’s sporting psyche, but he is rather more interested in ensuring his own name is on the honours board in the 100m backstroke, his main event, and the 200m individual medley, than in admiring the past.

In the latter, he should meet Michael Phelps, who aims to rewrite the lexicon of swimming. Mention of the American triggers a monologue about the lack of media profile for swimmers in Britain. “I want someone like Phelps in Britain,” he says. “People like him and Ian Thorpe inspire the next generation and there’s no reason we can’t produce someone of that quality. Swimming is a sexy sport, but it’s only looked at once every four years.

“I want people to know who I am, who Mark Foster is. I want swimming to get more media coverage, more sponsorship and provide more inspiration to others.” Tancock is doing his best. He is personable, energetic, dedicated to the point of “geekiness”, as he says himself, and has an admirable disregard for the reputations of Americans and Australians, the two powerhouse swimming nations. Under Bill Sweetenham, the Australian coach hired to sweep away the complacency in the British ranks, the national squad underperformed in Olympic competition. Sweetenham has gone and a new generation of swimmers is emerging from the radically overhauled structure he left behind.

During the summer, with a gold medal in the world short-course championships besides his world record, Tancock announced himself as one of the leaders of the squad. Maybe, he says, the mentality of the team has become tougher. “I’ve always striven to do my best,” he says. “It’s what my coaches have taught me.”

His phlegmatic attitude to competition emerged during the short-course championships when two lacklustre swims, and the last qualifying position in the final, were transformed into a gold medal from lane eight. “I wasn’t angry with myself,” he says. “You can’t swim angry because you won’t relax, but I was determined to leave nothing behind. I’m a good competitor, so if I’m swimming in the next lane to Phelps in Beijing, I’ll be thinking, ‘Good, there’s someone else to race’. I won’t be overawed.”

Tancock’s technical strength is his powerful arm movement and natural speed. It’s putting together the different phases of the two lengths that determines winner from loser. A fraction slow in the turn or push-off and four years of effort has been wasted.

By opting to specialise in the backstroke, Tancock consigned himself to long days looking at the ceiling. Except that he’s not looking at it. He couldn’t tell you whether there are beams across the pool in Loughborough, though he looks up at them every day, twice a day. What he does know is how many strokes there are between the 5m flag and his turn and how his body instinctively readies itself for the moment without conscious thought. “Feel is a big factor for me,” he says. “I know if my hand is a quarter of an inch out hitting the water, just as I know to about hundredths of a second what time I’ve done in training or competition. If I’m out of the water for a few days, I lose that feel very quickly.”

After his record-breaking 50m length in the trials, he caught a glimpse of the clock. He thought it read 24.4sec, which was a world record, but he had three lengths left to wonder if his eyes had been playing tricks. Only when he surfaced at the end did he realise he was right. The only problem is that he has advertised his tactics for the 100m. Go out hard and hang on. With speed to burn, it’s his main chance, but in the American Aaron Peirsol, the defending Olympic champion at 100m and 200m, he has a formidable foe.

“To be honest, there’s not much time for strategy,” he says. “Fifty-three seconds and it’s over. If you’re having to think what to do, it’s too late.”