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When I was 15, my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car, but I found them. That month, I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day, and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city, racing the taxis.

I've always been quite driven. I take after my father.

After the crash happened, I was so humiliated and embarrassed. I thought of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers, that they must hate me.

Mum and Dad split up when I was nine. We upped and moved from London to Sussex, and suddenly I went from an urban life to nothing in the countryside - with a new father and new life.

I always drive like a madman.

Mom always got me to school and the driving range while Dad was working. She also kept me quiet and humble. Both of them taught me to let my golf do the talking.

I was angry about the fact that my father would beat my mother on a daily basis, that my mother would take it in turn and beat on me. I was an abused child. I was mad about all those things, very bitter and very angry.

My father had a very violent temper, and he was never home. So I was kind of a mama's boy.