ON a recent BBC podcast, former first minister Nicola Sturgeon revealed that, aged 52, she is in the “early stages” of learning to drive.

Good on her.

I’m 33, and at the start of my driving journey, too.

I’ve got my theory test in a few weeks’ time and I’m trying to squeeze in as many practical lessons as possible in the months ahead.

Not because I have notions that I’ll be one of those people that manages to pass in a relatively short space of time, but because I’m sure I’m going to need an above-average number of lessons before I’m ready to take my practical test.

Having said that, driving lessons are going much better than expected. I haven’t banged into anything yet and I’m gradually getting more comfortable driving at higher speeds (i.e anything above 15mph).

Over the past few years, as my daughter’s social life has expanded, I have found myself wishing I could drive. I didn’t take any steps to make it happen, but the thought was always there, nagging away at me.

Life would be so much easier if I weren’t reliant on taxis and trains to get around.

The prospect of being able to just jump in the car and go for a mooch around big Tesco is indescribably thrilling.

I want to be able to feed the ducks or comb a beach whenever the desire strikes.

And it would be quite nice if we didn’t need to risk life and limb walking to school when the pavements are covered in ice or during one of our country’s regular biblical downpours.

Now that I’ve started lessons, the prospect of the “freedom” of driving, which Nicola Sturgeon cites as her main motivation for learning, is closer than it has ever been.

For some reason, I’ve always assumed that I would be uniquely unsuited to the process of learning to drive.

I didn’t start lessons because I never truly believed I’d be able to finish them – so what would be the point?

This negative belief solidified with every year of adulthood that went by without me plucking up the courage to sit in the driver’s seat.

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This year, something clicked and I’m determined to make it happen.

A few weeks ago, my daughter’s dad had a commitment at work which meant he couldn’t pick her up from her theatre club, as he normally does.

I usually drop her off (in a taxi, which waits, and then brings me home again) and he picks her up afterwards.

The class is only an hour long. It wouldn’t make any practical (or financial) sense for me to drop her off in a taxi only to have to return in another one half an hour later to pick her up. There’s a bloody cost of living crisis on and the taxis already cost me more than the classes do.

So that night, I ended up sitting on a grit bin, in the rain, outside the venue where the class is held, until it was time to take her home.

It was a low-point in my non-driving career but I killed the time wisely by doing some theory test revision.

When it comes to the practical skills – perhaps unsurprisingly – hazard perception is where I excel.

Caution is my middle name. When I am driving, I am constantly vigilant to any emerging hazard.

I still don’t understand how roundabouts work and the meaning of road signage regularly eludes me but I’m like a golden eagle staking out the ground for the merest flicker of a dormouse’s tail when it comes to spotting things that could hurt me or anybody else.

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To this, my driving instructor has a few responses.

Firstly, until I properly understand the meanings of all the lines on the road and what each sign means, I am a serious hazard to myself and other people.

Secondly, that this kind of hyper-vigilance is common in older learner drivers.

When you are 17, you are certain of your own infallibility. You are brimming with daring and courage.

As a mid-30s mum who never crosses the road without the permission of the green man, I am suitably terrified and awed by the responsibility that comes with being in control of a hunk of metal that moves at great speed.

This will probably mean that it takes me an agonisingly long time to pass my test.

Nicola Sturgeon, on the other hand, has spent decades on the frontline of Scottish politics – there’s no doubting she’s got grit. She’ll definitely cross the finish line before me.

But I’m in no rush. It tookme more than 15 years to get started on the journey, it doesn’t matter if it takes a few more years to finish.