I can't drive; there I said it. And when I say 'I can't drive' I don't mean I'm still bunny-hopping around my parent's housing estate or know how to make a car move, but have yet to master the finer details.

I literally have no idea how to start a car aside from placing the key in the ignition.

Now don't get me wrong, there was a time when I knew how to move a car from one point in a deserted supermarket carpark to another, but I think the trauma of my first and only occasion showing my father my 'skills' has massively dulled my memory.

Having been given 'lessons' by a number of pals in my twenties, I decided I was serious about this whole driving thing and would need to enlist the help of my father for regular tuition if I was it graduate to official lessons.

So, we took to a supermarket carpark one summer evening approximately seven years ago, and the 15 minutes that ensued means I now spend more money on Leap Cards than any other 30-year-old I know, and I learned some very valuable lessons about that ol' pop of mine.

1. My dad has no sense of humour…

…well, not when he's relegated to shotgun, that is.

As I shimmied into the driving seat and watched my clearly tense father strap himself awkwardly into the passenger seat, I attempted a little humour to lighten the mood.

Lacing my fingers together, I allowed the backs of my hands to face my chest before pushing my entwined hands towards the windscreen.

"Let's see what this bad boy can do," I joked referring to our family's Volkswagon with a faux straight face only to be met with a deathly silence and narrowed eyes.

Alright, then.

2. My dad's spatial awareness leaves a lot to be desired

After a few false starts, I slowly began driving in a straight line and considering there was a brick wall about 20 feet ahead, I thought it might be an idea to turn before hitting it. Like I said, I was practically pro.

Feeling pretty proud of myself, I turned the car (and remembered to indicate, thank you very much) and directed the vehicle towards a row of bottle banks approximately 100 feet in the distance.

A deafening roar of "MIND THE DAMN BINS!" reverberated around the car and caused me to slam on.

At the speed I was going, it would have taken me approximately six weeks to reach those bins, but there was no telling my father on that one.

3. My dad is keen on the 'truth'

After that mishap, I did what any self-respecting learner driver would do, I cut out.

I turned to my father with my mouth gaping open, but before I could launch into my own lecture, he demanded to know if I'd been pulling his leg.

"I thought you said you could drive!" he squawked. "You nearly took out those bins," he added, pointing hesitantly at what looked like four green dots in the distance,

"Just tell me the truth, Niamh! Have you EVER done this before? You nearly had us all killed. KILLED."

4. My dad is one for the dramatics

From that moment on, every person in Ireland was vulnerable to attack.

He assessed me like he thought I intended to use the family car as a deadly weapon, and he was to be my first victim.

From his perspective, no one was safe from me or my dastardly plans.

Relatives down the country didn't stand a chance, friends in the next town were in for it and as for kids on the next road? Done for.

5. My dad deserves the lead in a romcom

After being accused of wasting his time and taking the p*ss out of the whole process (all absolute lies), I silently unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the car door and with as much dignity as I could muster hauled myself out the driving seat.

Slamming the door, I stalked out of the carpark and began walking home, almost stiff with indignation.

Approximately 60 seconds later, it started to rain and I cursed my decision to leave the confines of the car when a Volkswagon slowed down beside me and started matching my pace.

To the sound of a window being rolled down, i saw my father leaning across the passenger seat urging me to get back inside and try again.

Like something from a teen flick, my father pleaded with me to give him another chance and while I did eventually get in (I mean, I had my hair to think about) I didn't get much further in my progress behind the old wheel.

Apparently, this dynamic is far from atypical.

Ahead of Father's Day, car insurance brand, its4women, partnered with IACP-accredited psychotherapist David Horan to get an expert’s opinion into why daughters tend to turn to their dads to learn how to ride a bike or then to drive – and why it doesn’t always go to plan. 

According to David, "Dad is often the person who teaches his daughter to ride a bike, and because Dad helps her succeed, a trust is created."

"When it comes to driving, another scary experience, most daughters naturally look to their Dads in hope he will help her to achieve success again."

"However, tensions can appear when the student becomes frustrated with her own limited ability and this is often taken out on the person closest to her – dad."

“For Dad, the dynamic is even more interesting when it comes to driving because passing on this skill is a symbol of Dad accepting daughter’s independence and his authority diminishing."

"This can sometimes be a difficult time for a dad who still sees his daughter as ‘his little girl’ and letting go can be an emotional time.”

“Often times Dads will teach their daughter to drive because he fears that another person may not teach her correctly,” explains David.

“Dad, knowing this moment represents his daughter reaching an age of independence, chooses to take on the responsibility to ensure daughter’s safety when driving.”

Well, that explains it.