The first time I got behind the wheel of a car, I was eleven - and I was petrified. We were on a narrow road that wound torturously through the mountains of Trinidad's Southern Range and in those pre-safety-conscious days, there wasn't a warning sign to be seen nor a safety rail to protect unwary travellers from the sheer 300-foot drop. And there were no seatbelts, either. I could already hear the thud and see the flames -– those hours spent watching car chases on television had not been wasted.

It was one of those bright, hot Caribbean days, where only the laser-bright sun relieved the expanse of dazzling blue sky. There wasn't a cloud to be seen, and all of us squirmed uncomortably as the sweat pooled in the most uncomfortable bodily crevices. We were going to visit one of my father's friends, who had two children our ages, lots of outside space for us to run around and, most importantly on such a day, a swimming pool. I was really looking forward to it.

All that changed as my father said reflectively: 'You know, I really think it's about time you learned to drive.' The sweat congealed somewhere around the base of my spine and all the warmth leached out of the day. All of a sudden our lovely pale yellow 1973 Toyota Corolla seemed less limo than deathtrap. I could tell that he wasn't talking about taking a turn around our local estate, with its grid of nice, flat, and above all, safe streets. He meant now - and here.

I was right, too, because he stopped just after one of the many hairpin turns and switched off the engine. And I knew then that we wouldn't be moving again unless I was at the wheel. It seemed a crazy idea to me, but what was I to do? My dad had spoken - and I was still just young enough to consider his word law.

Getting into the driver's seat was the first problem, because neither of us could leave the car safely. My dad would have had to stand in the middle of the road and I would have had to negotiate the precipice. Obviously, that wasn't an option, so we settled for the more cumbersome - but certainly safer - method of clambering over the seats. First, I climbed into the back seat, wishing I had further to go, so I could escape the trial that awaited me. Then my dad swapped seats. Finally, I climbed into the driver's seat. My sister, who was eight, was beginning to look worried.

I'd always looked forward to the day I'd be able to drive, but I hadn't expected it to come so soon. Following my dad's instructions, I turned the key in the ignition and started the car - so far, so good. But did he really intend me to go through with this. I squeezed my legs together. It wouldn't take much to make me wet myself and make this officially the worst day of my life.

Note: I'm an adult child of an alcoholic (ALCOA). Some time ago I decided to write a memoir and I started with this account of my first driving lesson. It's a true story, though I can't honestly remember all the dialogue in detail. Part two follows soon

Read part 2

When my relatives come to visit, I've always wished there were an easy way to cover them to drive my car while they're on holiday. Until now, there hasn't been. It's been a cumbersome and expensive process, which is hardly worth the trouble. But now Norwich Union Insurance has launched the perfect product: short term car insurance. For 10 pounds or less a day (not a bad car insurance rate) your friends and family can drive your car and you can relax, knowing you'll be covered if there's any damage. This information is in a web release from CarInsurance.com, which provides quick car insurance coverage across the US.