Mirror, signal, manoeuvre: taking a driving test... in a Lamborghini Revuelto

So how hard is it to pass your driving test in a supercar? Something with scissor doors, a woeful turning circle, speed bump scraping ride height and approaching zero rear visibility? That’s what I’m here to find out. My companion is Lamborghini’s mightiest machine, the brand new Revuelto, complete with an 814bhp 6.5-litre V12 topped up to 1,001bhp by three e-motors, for 0–62mph in not today you don’t and a top speed of straight to jail via test fail. It also has a nose lift. That’ll prove very important. And surprisingly inadequate.

Photography: Jonny Fleetwood

And I’m in Speke, just south of Liverpool, chosen for no other reason than the most important one: it has the lowest pass rate of any driving test centre in the UK. Double jeopardy then. And apologies to any local learners who weren’t aware of this. Although given the way test bookings are at the moment, you’ll be travelling to Dover for your test anyway. And won’t be taking it until 2028.

Now, a point of order to clear up. There’s nothing on the DVSA website that specifically says you can’t take your driving test in a Lamborghini Revuelto. However, if you tried you’d be turned away because, like the Smart Fortwo, Toyota iQ and Mini Convertible (among other flagrant rule breakers unlucky enough to have triggered the authorities), all-round visibility isn’t good enough.

Everything else about it complies, as far as I can work out. There are no warning lights showing, I’ve got more than 1.6mm of tread on each tyre, I’ve fitted an extra interior mirror (for what it’s worth), checked passenger seatbelt and headrest, established that the Revuelto is capable of over 62mph and attached L plates. And a roof sign for good measure. I want people to get the message. And yes, I do already hold a full UK driving licence. Have held it longer than anyone else at Top Gear in fact. Or phrased another way, no one is more distant from their test pass than I am.

All I need now is a driving examiner. Step forward Aman Sanghera, driving instructor of 12 years’ standing, whose Clearview Driving channels on social media have over 1m followers. Normally found occupying the passenger seat of a Merc A-Class alongside a nervous learner, today she’s in a supercar alongside an overconfident middle-aged man, both of whose kids passed first time out and are desperate for him to fail. I’ll try not to let anyone down.

The waiting room at Speke driving test centre. You know this place. It’s just like the one you went to. Or the one at the doctor’s surgery. Or the police station, I suspect. I clearly wouldn’t know. Bland noticeboards pinned with ‘helpful’ guides, carpet tiled floor, leaflets in holders, phone numbers to call, some cheap chairs and absolutely nothing comforting, welcoming or supportive. You can smell the panic, taste the fear. Memories come flooding back. I failed my test first time round. Overconfident, that’s what I remember the examiner telling me. I broke a speed limit, failed to indicate before changing lanes – and then, after getting out of the car, furious, asked the examiner what satisfaction he got from failing people. I regretted it instantly, and remain deeply ashamed about it three decades on.

I watch from across the car park as the first batch of examinees arrive. I recognise their stiff steps and distracted looks, brains bulging with Highway Code rules and regs. They arrive with their instructors and 10 minutes later depart with high-vis clad examiners. Having first done the eyesight test. Oh God. I’m at the stage of life where my eyesight is changing fast, and my visits to the optician have not been keeping pace. Reading a numberplate at 20.5 metres... is still, it turns out, a doddle. Phew.

And we’re rolling. Or rather shuffling. I practiced all the way up here yesterday, wheel drily passing through my hands, and hated it. The Revuelto has light, direct steering and a refreshingly small, thin-rimmed steering wheel. Not too much lock needed, plenty of space for frantic hands above thighs and below header rail. No Lamborghini has ever been better suited to a driving test. Left out of the test centre and I can’t see why Speke endures a 27 per cent pass rate. Wide, lightly trafficked road. Then right, and into learner armageddon. Roadworks across a roundabout, then immediately left into narrow terraced streets. I’m so distracted by parked cars, the playground to my right and potential balls bouncing into the road that I completely miss the first (unmarked) speed bump. Ker-schrissk goes the front splitter. Aman yelps in horror, I jolt in fear – is failing to negotiate a speed bump an automatic failure?

The Revuelto’s steering wheel contains four rotary controls and 16 buttons. Plus another eight or so on the back. One of these does the nose lift. Dare I risk a look down? Going to have to, another speed bump looms. My left thumb fumbles then finds it. We crawl over, suspension joltingly stiff. The next road appears to have been bombed. I have to go so slowly I start to wonder if driving tests have a time limit. It’s topped off by a speed bump that goes toe to toe or rather lip edge to chin splitter with the nose lift and wins. Ker-schrissk, again.

We doddle a few left and rights, and then, at the precise moment a kid on an e-bike, phone aloft, comes flying into my blind spot, the V12 fires. I did see him, promise. He gets a tank slapper on and attempts to arrest his swift progress towards a mini-roundabout by putting his feet out. Christ on a bike. Yes, I think it might be actually given the way he’s attempting to get off and walk at 25mph.

I’d obviously been in electric mode until now. Let’s call it three miles of stealth. Now the broadcast is aural as well as visual, and I’m bemoaning whatever dirt Lambo must surely have on the legislators that allows it to make the Revuelto this rowdy. People start stepping out of houses before we get there. People with cats snaking around their ankles and curious dogs poking between legs. Toddlers on scooters might follow, I might get early emergency stop practice.

And when we do stop, people slither into sight, one or two at first, then multiplying like cells in a petri dish. They don’t even seem that disappointed on discovering I’m not a 17-year-old Everton superstar. The car’s the star. Which is a problem during a driving test. Over the shoulder checks are mostly full of people’s crotches, phones wave in my periphery, imploring voices demand revs. The Revuelto, I need to point out, is behaving immaculately. It moves lightly, easily at low speed, the twin clutch box effortlessly shuffles its ratios, hill starts are a doddle when the handbrake releases automatically. Excellent news if you’re a Knightsbridge dweller with one on order. Without spelling it out, Speke is not Knightsbridge. However, my ice cream slurping chum did spell it out. “It’s f*****g dodgy round ’ere, youse had better watch yerselves.” Friendly like, but not so much that I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t in school.

The Revuelto fluffed the emergency stop, by the way. I’d forgotten to engage max downforce and didn’t have enough heat in the carbon ceramics and tyres, so it juddered and surfed to a halt from 25mph. Next up was one I had been waiting for. Pull over to a kerb on the opposite side of the road and reverse two car lengths. The rearview mirror is rightly more concerned with giving you a view of the V12, and while the side mirrors do a passable job, I’d worked out a better method: open the door and lean out. I could just about see round the rear tyres and it did make it a doddle to ensure I didn’t kerb a precious alloy. I’m not sure Aman saw it the same way.

Despite that, the set pieces are fine. These are the things you’ve rehearsed, the examiner won’t put you in a tricky situation, so you go through the same pattern. It’s the regular stuff that tests you, the bus coming the other way in the distance, the confusing paint on the road, the delivery van that lurches out of a side turn, awkward angled junctions, the who gives way to whom streets.

I miss a speed limit change and sail blithely onwards at 26mph

That’s not where I fail. I fail with three majors. Fail properly in other words. I miss a speed limit change and sail blithely onwards at 26mph. I don’t check my blind spot enough, nor do enough checks when pulling away after the emergency stop. Leaning out the car door to reverse? Not an automatic fail, but failing to check the mirror on the other side at all while I was reversing made it a failure.

Can’t blame the car for much of that, because ground clearance aside, the Revuelto didn’t put a foot wrong. Actually, what am I saying, the steering wheel indicators with a separate button to cancel them are sodding irritating, and trying to actually fit the 2,033mm wide (not including mirrors) supercar in a test bay for the reverse park was a genuine squeeze that needed a second stab. Just as well, or that would have been another fail.

What makes Speke so challenging? According to Aman and the other instructors and examiners I spoke to, it’s a combination of narrow streets, awkward, closely stacked junctions and some confusing road markings. Want a tip, learners of Speke? Head to Montrose in Scotland and its 74.8 per cent pass rate. Two days after my test the Driving Instructors Association published a story that claimed Speke is now only the second toughest place to pass. Swindon now holds the crown. Nah, I’m not off for another attempt, I’m just thankful this one wasn’t legally binding.