For some time now, I've found myself wondering if cars would be more engaging if they were a lot harder to drive. Of course, some people like to pretend that driving is a very specialised skill. The Institute of Advanced Motorists, for example, who sometimes seem to imagine that the rest of us have not grasped the enormity of the undertaking.

Then there are track-day driving instructors, who often sound like human resources executives, talking about 'personal development' and 'building progressively on a skills base'. I worry that even our own Stig would sound like this if he could talk, but since he's the result of an early experiment in bionics - his urine is just a stream of transistors - he can't, fortunately.

It would be nice to drive a car knowing that few other people were qualified to do so, but, as I have observed before, it's not like being an Apollo astronaut or a member of Pink Floyd. Everyone I know can do it and I must therefore conclude that it's easy.

By way of illustration, it's interesting to compare a journey in the car with a trip in the little tin 'n' rivets aeroplane I fly. When I walk out of the door to take a spin in the Fiat Panda, I don't even bother to check if the tyres are all inflated. But on the aeroplane, the tyre condition is just one of hundreds of things I'm supposed to consider before I even get in the thing. Brake lines as well. It's so complicated that I have to carry a little book reminding me of all the things I'm supposed to look at before I can consider going anywhere. They include the hinges on all the control surfaces and the rods and wires linking them all together.

I have to check all the lights, the fuel tanks, the fuel for moisture or contamination, the condition of the metal skin, the oil level, the brake fluid level, the prop for nicks and chips, the engine cowlings for security, the stall warning buzzer and the heater for the pitot tube. I have to check that the alternator belt is in place, since it's difficult to repair with a pair of tights in flight.