As I career towards old age, there are many things which frighten me. All the hair on my head will start to grow out of my nose. My ear lobes will swell up. My bladder will cease to function. I will become even more baffled by new technology.

You’re middle-aged. You have children. Your life is so boring you actually look forward to the arrival of the milkman.

The greatest fear I face is that people, once they reach the age of 50, seem to lose their sense of humour. John Cleese is a prime example.

Perhaps the biggest difference between midlife cycling and sex is that the old girl underneath doesn’t mind being called a bike.

People who don’t have a PlayStation or an account with MyBook. People who don’t go out on a Saturday night. We’re called adults.

What worries me most of all is that [Richard] Hammond’s gonna go: “Oh it’s really brilliant, I can ride standing up and everything” – and I can’t, ’cause I’m too tall and I’m too old and I’m too fat and I hate it.

What I crave in my middle age is an empty diary. Page after page of nothing.

Everyone makes love at some point without knowing that they’ll never do it again. I think if they did, they’d put a bit more effort into the final performance.

[On why men can’t pretend to be younger than they are] We hear Barry Manilow had plastic surgery and what do we think? Poof. Mickey Rourke is said to have had Botox put in his face. Poof. Jay Kay wins a prize for most stylish man. Poof. AA Gill. Poof. Paul Smith. Poof.

I sometimes wonder what I’ve done already for the last time. Skied? Flown a fighter jet? Seen the dawn at a party? It always fills me with great sadness and a resolve that I must never, ever, allow myself to be bored. This is why I shall not be going to church any more.

When we reach 50... there are many, many things you would rather do at night than have sex. Sleeping. Reading. Being dangled from a tall building by what’s left of your hair even.