Secondly, there really is another side to me away from what you see on a cricket field. The more established I have become as an England player, the more comfortable I have become in showing other sides to my personality, the side that my wife Daniella and daughters Lola and Ruby know, or the one that is familiar to my close mates within the team, such as Graeme Swann and Alastair Cook.

But, equally, I take my work very seriously. Probably more seriously than you realize. To such an extent, in fact, that I actually practise being confrontational, aggressive and generally in-yer-face. I analyse my own performances, not just in terms of my bowling but how I have conducted myself. Because, I have discovered, I tend to be more effective as a bowler when I am chuntering at opponents or involved in a full-on and frank exchange of views than when I am not.

Us fast bowlers tend to have an attribute that gives us an edge over our opponents, and mine is actually being something of a mardy bum. Because I have not got express pace like Shoaib Akhtar, nor am I built like a brick outhouse like Chris Tremlett, or look down from 6 ft 7 in like Steve Finn, I need something else in my armoury as a fast bowler to help give me that edge over the batsmen.

In international sport you are always looking for that extra something that gives you an advantage in a contest. A lot of the time the skill alone will play the biggest part, but when you come across someone who is just as good a match, if not better than you, you need that little bit more, that other thing. My thing is the chat.

Obviously not everyone is susceptible to a verbal duel and so I choose my players wisely, or at least I like to think I do. My aim is to get under their skin and bring them out of their comfort zones. For example, there would be no point in getting into a verbal challenge with someone like Ricky Ponting, an opponent who soaks it up, becomes more determined and plays better because of a bit of niggle. Nor, if I came up against him, would I joust with Kevin Pietersen because he is another batsman who thrives on it.

For different reasons, I wouldn’t really go at someone like Sachin Tendulkar – and that has nothing to do with his superior ability or elevated status in the game. He just doesn’t get drawn into it, so you are expending your energy for nothing. Whenever we’ve played against India in recent years, I would be more likely to have a go at Rahul Dravid, another of their supremely talented players, for the simple reason that he would have a go back. Because, in general, as soon as opponents start talking back to you in between deliveries, they have been drawn out of their comfort zone, knocked out of kilter, lured into an area not natural to them.

Batsmen do not generally head into the middle looking for a chat. They tend to have a quiet focus on the job in hand, so I feel I am on top whenever they do start chirping, and as though I am the only one who can win that battle, generally. Let’s face it: when a batsman starts talking back he is concentrating on something else other than the red spherical leather object I am about to hurl down at him. Think how heavily the odds are stacked against the batsmen. It takes just one ball to get them out, and that ball will arrive at some point; lose focus and it might come sooner than anticipated, so they’re on to a loser in my book.

The most obvious example of that came during the 2010–11 Ashes when Mitchell Johnson was at the crease. Having the last laugh in a verbal exchange can seldom have been more publicized thanks to the popularity of YouTube.

To set the scene on the occasion in question, during the third Test in Perth I was very friendly towards Mitchell when he arrived in the middle. Now our Mitch had not played in the second Test in Adelaide, and I had missed him, so I simply inquired as to where he had been and what he had been up to. I was genuinely interested.

Yet I must admit it was a bit of a surprise when he came back with: ‘Just been doing a few photo shoots, mate.’ After getting dropped, surely his time would have been better spent in the nets striving to get back into the Australia team. It was an observation I thought I had better share with him, and as far as I was concerned my quip put me 1-0 up early in the contest.

Throughout his stay at the crease, words were exchanged back and forth, until he truly snapped, wandering a few yards towards me, where I stood at the start of my run-up, to inquire: ‘Why are you chirping now, mate, not getting wickets?’

Now I am not a bloke renowned for his sense of timing but I couldn’t have followed up any better. My next delivery beat Ryan Harris’s defensive push and castled his stumps. Cue elaborate celebration towards Johnson, and a not-so-subtle suggestion from me that he button it. Of course, it was a pretty decent reply, that. However, to be fair, Mitchell had the best comeback of the lot when he followed up his half-century with 6 for 40 to set the series-levelling win up for them.

I can be pretty stubborn, and don’t generally do backing down when engaged in a duel, which explains my actions during the first Test of that 2010–11 Ashes series. I had been having an exchange with Shane Watson, and although he was keeping me out, I felt as though I was in the ascendancy. For some reason, at a certain point in the proceedings something triggered a memory of what Mike Atherton had once told me. That you always win the battle as a batsman because you can stand your ground, and have a right to do so, whereas the bowler eventually has to turn around and saunter back to his mark.