I’m always in the mood for buzzing around the track in a petrol-powered shopping cart.

I pull on the jumpsuit and the helmet that smells suspiciously like grease and I’m instantly transformed into a mini Schumacher.

There are a few reasons why driving a go-kart is preferable to a real car.

My favourites are that you don’t need to endure all the stress of a driving test, nor can you be jailed for purposefully ramming your vehicle into another.

At least I don’t think you can go to jail, or rather I hope not.

You see, karting, along with badminton, Monopoly and downing a pint, only serve to bring out my competitive, crazy streak.

It’s easy to win when you’re playing Monopoly.

You just volunteer to be the banker and pocket a few hundreds when nobody’s looking.

When it comes to karting though, the main weapon in my winner’s arsenal is essentially ramming my competitors off the track.

In my eyes the kart is no longer an implement of joyful motoring, it is a WMD that’s going to blow all my competition out of the water.

I was thrilled to accompany my son to a party where both fairy cakes and karts were on the birthday menu.

The kids looked so cute in their little suits.

Plus, they were pretty well padded so they wouldn’t suffer too bad of a concussion when I left them draped over the side of the track.

I was getting pretty psyched up but any pent up adrenaline quickly vacated when we all set off.

The kids were all petrified to go full speed.

There were a lot of very slow kangaroo hops taking place as they edged around the track at a cumulative speed of 4mph.

I could have sped around the track, weaving in and out as they all looked on, petrified, but that would be no fun.

I needed some competition.

I managed to get behind my son which involved having to almost lap him.

I started banging into the back of his kart and this was met by some high pitched squealing and sudden braking.

I could see his dad and aunty trying to chastise me but I just pointed at my ears and shook my head.

Then… whoosh!

Someone shot past me on the outside so fast that I lost my focus and hit the delightful tyre bumpers.

“Who’s this joker, like?” I screamed angrily in front of the remaining kids.

Before I knew it my foot was to the floor and I was chasing this wise guy down like my life depended on it.

They swerved in front of me as I tried to overtake.

Then we were neck and neck, I saw my nemesis and instantly recognised their evil little face.

It was my cousin.

We already had a bad relationship due to a falling out over eating too many sweets – I ate all her sweets and she cried and grassed me up.

I couldn’t manage to overtake her and now my son was chugging along blocking my path.

He looked so sweet and for an instant I was tempted to off-road her and let him win.

Then reason took hold of me.

I sped into the side of my son and sent both the kids into the bumpers, leaving me to cross the finish line.

It was worth the scolding and tears, because guess who got to take home the first place Crayola kit?