I get home from work at six or seven. When I'm busy, I set my alarm for three, get out of bed at quarter past three. I have a cup of tea and read a magazine and take the dogs for a walk up the lane. Go through my text messages and reply to anything that needs it, then get my biking gear on ready to cycle to work.
For my first race, when I was 19, I'd bought a 600cc bike. And that was far too big for me, really. I shouldn't have really had something like that. But anyway, I went and raced, and I crashed. In my very first race! But I never gave in. I kept going back and back and back.
When I crash during a race and injure myself, what's the point in whinging? Because I put myself in that position. No one's making me race motorbikes - I want to go and race motorbikes. The most annoying thing for me is lying in hospital and not being able to get to work. I get beside myself.
Speed on its own isn't always so exciting. On a racing motorbike, I can do over 180 mph, which is fast, but not as fast as the airliners that we all climb aboard to fly off on holiday. Modern passenger jets can cruise at between 500 and 600 mph, but sitting in an aeroplane like that for hours on end isn't very exciting, is it?