After failing my driving test, I was inspired to write an article describing what happened. I basically want other readers (who are likely to be the same age as me) to know what it is like to take a driving test and what it feels like to fail. I added humour to make the article light-hearted and after showing a few people the finished piece, I was recommend to try and get it published.

There are two words which are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Hill. Start. Two words I never want to hear ever again in the same sentence. I recently failed my driving test and as usual, I failed in style. My ego is bruised, my confidence is shattered and my psychological wounds are still healing.

To be blunt, driving lessons today are a pain the la derrière. The average learner has between thirty to forty lessons before taking the dreaded practical test. I had roughly thirty-seven lessons. One boy I know passed his theory three days after he turned seventeen, had ten driving lessons and passed first time! Now he thinks he is the white man's equivalent of Jay-Z, but I'm not fussed, he has a funny-shaped head. Another girl, one of my former best friends, passed her test first time as well and is currently seen causing mayhem in her brand new Vauxhall Corsa. Spoilt brat. She has no friends, apart from her boyfriend and they're probably more interested in having fun on the backseats than having to do a turn in the road.

Jealous? Who, me? Well if I am perfectly honest, yes I am. The only thing that will make me smirk is the tiny glimmer of hope that they will get six points within two years and have their licences revoked. I am resisting the temptation to cross my arms and pout, "It's not fair!" to anyone that wants to listen. Even my boyfriend has started to put his fingers in his ears whenever I mention 'THE TEST'. One of our conversations went something like this:

Me: Ten lessons! That's all he had! How is that possible?! Jesus. And don't get me started on HER, with her bloody Corsa. Why does SHE need a car? To drive to sixth form, where they have their own designated car park! (A learner suddenly comes past) Oh surprise, surprise! I hope they stall the car. I wonder if THEY will pass THEIR test first time. Oh shi-

Him: Siobhan, I'm not even old enough to drive a car yet and you're sitting there moaning about failing? I don't give a (bleep). I can't even apply for my provisional licence! So shut up and (bleep) off.

Ouch. That really got me where it hurts.

My test was scheduled for three thirty on Saturday 22nd April 2006. Time seemed to go sooo slooow beforehand. Pacing up and down my bedroom didn't seem to work and eyeing up my mother's Corsa just added to the pressure. Just before I was about to leave, my dad handed me a donor card. Now's not the time to drop in at Queen's Medical Centre and have a kidney transplant! My organs are functioning well. "It will bring you luck. I had it my back pocket when I passed my HGV", my dad explained. Did you also have a four-leaf clover and rabbit's foot stuffed in you back pocket as well then?

"Drive on when you're ready", my instructor said as I began to prepare, observe then move. It is the day of my driving test. My hands are shaking and my palms are sweating (even though it is quite mild for mid-April). My family anxiously watch me drive towards Sinfin, the test centre in Derby. The name sounds similar to 'sink or swim' and by four o'clock, I would either be a sinker or a swimmer.

The hour before my test was a breeze. I sailed past vehicles on the dual carriageway, mastered the art of reverse parking and beautifully performed a turn in the road. Nothing could stop me now! That was until I arrived at the test centre. One BSM vehicle was already waiting in a bay, so I decided to show them how to park in a bay properly. No problem. However, my confidence started to diminish as I entered the compact test centre. No word of a lie, it is like a caravan. So you imagine the awkwardness of waiting in room with your driving instructor, another learner and her instructor sitting shoulder to shoulder. Tick Tock, tick Tock. One last chance to see I have brought the right documents. Driving licence? Check. Theory certificate? Check? Donor card? Check, resting in my back pocket.

Another minute crept past and two examiners came out of a door. One was a friendly blonde woman, who would probably give me a minor for squashing a child. The other was what I would describe as an Oompa Loompa. He was small and wrinkly and wore black sunglasses. I made silent prayer that the woman would be my examiner. According to my instructor, young girls like me are more likely to pass with her because we can get away with more. Typical male comment, I thought. I'll show him, and then it will be my turn to grumble about MALE drivers.

"Miss O’Hanlon?" The Oompa Loompa was looking directly at me. Fiddlesticks. I stood up and signed some paperwork. Fiddlesticks again. What if my signature does not match? (I remember when I was about to take my theory test and the invigilator looked at my signature, compared it to my license and eventually said, "That will do"). I gave my instructor one last pitiful look and showed the Oompa Loompa the Mini Cooper. When I was standing next to him reading a random number plate, I felt like the BFG. And there's me thinking that the examiners deliberately try and intimidate you!

After he had checked the car and noted down some details, he got in the passenger seat and asked me what I would like to be called.

"Siobhan is fine", I said.

"OK Siobhan", he replied in his southern accent, "where are you from?"

"Long Eaton", I answered; nowhere near Willy Wonka's factory.

"Oooh, that's near Nottingham right?" he smiled.

I nodded. "Yes it is."

"I'm just going to adjust my seat so it's a bit higher." I bit my lip. I can't laugh at him because he is vertically challenged; he is going to be the person who will decide whether I can drive correctly. I felt like offering the Yellow Pages for him to sit on. Bless him.

My first manoeuvre was the bay parking. Easy. I bit my lip again when the examiner had to get out and check to see if I was the bay. Luckily, I was. I saw the other girl in the BSM car drive off with the woman examiner. I wished her luck as I drove in the opposite direction.

The only time the Oompa Loompa spoke was when he gave me directions. "At the roundabout, I would like you to turn left." I signalled, changed gear and spotted a taxi approaching. Right, I can beat him I thought and slammed my foot on the accelerator. When I turned left, I saw the Oompa Loompa write something on his mark sheet. Whoops. Big blunder #1.

Big blunder #2 occurred just a few minutes later. Oompa Loompa ordered me to park on the left, on a hill. When I yanked the handbrake up and put the car in neutral, he told me continue driving. All that effort for nothing! I stared in my right wing mirror. Uh oh, traffic. I saw my chance to move, when the car rolled back. Huh? That's not supposed to happen! Handbrake on, and I attempted to drive on for the second time. I rolled back a bit more. Now I'm getting worried. On the third attempt, Oompa Loompa said, "I don't think you're in gear Siobhan." I looked down. I was still in neutral. I blushed as I apologised and continued with my test.

In fact, I continued to blush when we arrived at the caravan/test centre. Immediately after I switched the car off, Oompa Loompa turned to me with a sympathetic look on his face and sighed, "I'm afraid that you haven't passed on this occasion." Straightaway, numerous thoughts popped into my head:

1. Fail? FAIL?! You've got to be joking me!
2. Well that was a waste of £55!
3. If I offer you a Wonka bar will you change your mind?
4. How can you say I have failed when you can't even see over the dashboard?!
5. Boohoo, I'm a loser.
6. Will other people think I am a loser?
7. I'd like to see YOU drive! I bet you still use a booster seat!
8. So much for the 'lucky' donor card.
9. Hey, you're still alive, I wasn't THAT bad!
10. Can I have my money back?

It turns out I got four minors (control, gears, parking brake and use of speed) and one major (moving off). Oompa Loompa wished me luck next time, got out of the car and walked towards the caravan/test centre. He is probably going home to get ready for his night shift at Willy Wonka's factory. I get the impression that driving examiners flip a coin which will determine whether someone passes or fails. Or they get a kick out of telling people they have failed. They rub their hands together with glee and consider taking a candidate on the route with the busiest traffic and trick them. That's my theory.

After that dreadful day, I'm still a learner. I still have 'L' plates on the car and I still have people overtaking me (even though I am driving at the correct speed. It is highly annoying, and I if ever come across those lads in the white van again...). I still have my dad lecturing me on THAT hill start and most importantly, I still have driving lessons. But don't fret; I'll be on the roads faster than you can say 'Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory'!