Jackie Jarvis writes

“If your wife wants to learn to drive, don’t stand in her way.”  Sam Levenson

What is it about boys and their toys? And especially when it comes to fast cars.

Thankfully, in these times of sexual enlightenment, sitting pretty behind the wheel of a high performance vehicle is no longer regarded as a solely male preserve.

Us girls can equally embrace the thrill of driving at high speed and can be darn good at handling life in the fast lane. I, for one, have owned a good few sporty little numbers in my 35 years on the road. And this to the annoyance of far too many chauvinistic types to mention, who insist on taking pole position at traffic lights in a bid to assert their threatened masculinity over me and put the little woman well and truly in her place.

The sight of a mere female in a motor with an engine bigger than the size of a pea can have the same effect as a red rag does to a bull.

The difference with members of the fairer sex is that we allow these testosterone fuelled twits the power to exert their egos over us in these situations, secure in the knowledge that we have the power to beat them off the mark if we really wanted to.

But we have nothing to prove in the first past the post stakes.

Women motorists have suffered the butt of so many unwarranted jokes since time immemorial.

These labels are not deserved, especially when you consider the amount of time the majority of us, as a necessity, spend in the driving seat in the course of busy professional and family lives.

And as for dirty words like ‘road rage’ – they are not part of our very ladylike vocabulary.

Just the other week I was given the chance to do it for the girls and prove the point that we can cut it when it comes to taking charge of an iconic mean machine, thanks to the fantastic guys at driveme.net at Seighford.A throaty roar greeted me as my chariot, a dazzling canary yellow Lamboghini Gallardo slinked sexily on to the track.

This Italian stallion, with its powerful V10 engine and impressive 520 bhp has the ability to go from 0 to 60 mph in just 4.1 seconds and can reach a top speed of 190 mph. But I was determined not to be fazed by the beast.

After all, it was only a car.

My lovely Liverpudlian instructor Andy, a director of the action experience company and a seasoned racing driver himself, emotionally steered me safely round the track.

By the third lap I had just about got the measure of my dream machine and had found the confidence, with my codriver’s encouragement, to put my foot down on the gas and really go for it; and it was exhilarating.

All drivers are awarded a score after their six-lap run and I think I did pretty well, notching up a very respectable 87%. And, may I add, and not too smugly to appear gloating, managed to beat a certain male who rather fancies himself as a budding Jensen Button. Who says women can’t drive?

Life will never be the same tootling about the Shropshire lanes in my little Mazda...