'The lads often give out to me for saying what I say - but if I didn't say what I thought I wouldn't be being true to myself'

It is the same stretch of the M7 motorway that takes you from the Red Cow roundabout in Dublin to junction 19, where you turn off for Cork and eventually look out for the sign for Cashel, Fethard and Clonmel. It is the same quaint village of Rosegreen you pass through just before you get to the big gates guarding the greatest training establishment in Ireland. It is the same splendid avenue that leads you all the way up to the illustrious Giant's Causeway yard. We are sitting in the same armchairs we have sat in many times before. The tea is served in the same china cups and the same purple Snack bars are sitting on a saucer, teasing me the same way they always do.

Everything feels the same at Ballydoyle, only this time it is different. 

The recently crowned British champion trainer for a seventh time, and the soon-to-be-crowned 28-time champion trainer of Ireland, walks into the room, puffs out his cheeks, rubs his fingers through his fringe and then proceeds to be so polite that you feel you're doing him a favour by being there, not the other way around.