This is me at the wheel of an XK120, in the pits at Silverstone, about to thwack the car around the circuit on a track day. When I say I love driving, I mean it. I properly love driving. And when my father taught me how to take a line on a racing corner my joy was complete.There are few things more enjoyable than screeching around a right hand bend on two wheels in am open top vintage sports car, then accelerating off down a straight at 100mph.
I’ve driven most of the English circuits from Mallory Park to Castle Combe, got stuck in the kitty litter in the wrong gear on the Prescott Hill Climb (that wasn’t embarrassing at all), and been scared rigid by Sir Stirling Moss when he almost span us both off at Goodwood when he drove the 120.
So I do get a little annoyed when men patronise women about driving, and make it my business to shake up a few preconceptions.
I’ve never enjoyed myself more on a circuit than when I was asked to drive a friend’s teenage son around Goodwood in the 120. He was crestfallen at the prospect of being driven by a girl. Especially a girl with blonde hair & pink lipstick.
I smiled sweetly, asked how fast he wanted to go, slid down my visor, and proceeded to scare the living daylights out of him.