I don't care if I'm a 4x4 'idiot'

I am the type of woman Mayor Ken Livingstone hates. I am the sort of woman he charmingly refers to as a "complete idiot". I am an idiot because I have the temerity to swan about London in a modestly sized four-wheel drive Toyota Rav 4 - which just about fits my husband and three tall teenagers inside with the weekly shopping.

I stand accused of being a gas-guzzling Queen of the Road, someone whom Ken would like to see pay double the congestion charge. This week, a new survey showed that two-thirds of the public would also like to see me pay "special" taxes (ie higher taxes) for owning an off-road vehicle in London, where one in seven cars is now apparently a 4x4.

In my defence I am not someone who gets off on big cars. I don't feel the need to flaunt my power behind the wheel, nor - pray God - do I feel my choice of car reflects my personality. If I were choosing a car for such esoteric reasons I would be driving an imported aquamarine Bel Air convertible with the Best of The Beach Boys playing on a perpetual loop and my children contorted into unnatural positions on the back seat.

I have always regarded cars in much the same way that I regard handbags. You need one that fits your bits. Just as I need to carry my life and office in my handbag, I want to transport my family in as much comfort and safety as I can possibly afford, and I need a car that is large enough to accommodate them, their friends and all the paraphernalia that goes with an active lifestyle.

My Rav 4 fits the bill. It has excellent visibility due to its elevated status and when I'm behind the wheel I feel safer than I do in the average saloon car.

I'm not greedy or wilfully politically incorrect, nor do I enjoy paying the £34 it costs me to fill up my tank with overpriced petrol; I am just a practical working mother who spends a great deal of time juggling the logistical nightmare of ferrying children about town from our home in Chelsea, with running a household and having a career. I have only one child still at school in London, and she often walks.

I walk when I can, use the Tube and taxis and avoid driving into the congestion area except at weekends. Like many others I deeply resent being heavily penalised for living and working in London. An Englishman's home may well be his castle, but his roads are fast becoming his jail.

I strongly feel the chagrin of Ken Livingstone and his like towards large car owners is rooted in class envy, chippiness and a deep desire to stamp out individualism. He'd like us all to become a small nation of robotic-like conformists who inhabit a Legoland Utopia with tolls and taxes at every crossroads, but he underestimates the fundamental need of adults to make their own choices in life. How we express ourselves is dictated to by income and personal taste.

Some people love small cars and actively seek them out. Others want to parade their wealth in the latest state-of-the-art sports models. Some choose to drive vehicles more suited to country living, and others like me opt to spend their money on cars like Rav 4s. It's all down to the individual, and control freaks like Ken don't like being out of control.

I look at photographs of Ken smugly carrying his toddler son about London in one of those strapped-on pouches and every bone in my body makes me want to fast-forward to a time when his son is 14 years old and has made it into his school cricket or football team.

Perhaps the match will be on a rainy Saturday and perhaps Mr Livingstone and his partner will be the sort of jolly hands-on parents who volunteer to supply the picnic tea or oranges and squash at halftime. I want to see him try lugging a heavy bag full of bats, stumps and headgear and leaking Tupperware containers off to a playing field that's at least half a mile away from a bus stop or Tube station.

When my children have grown up and left home I shall probably buckle down and get a smaller model, but right now I feel completely justified in driving what I want, when I want and to a degree where I want. The day we have to give up freedom of choice is a sad one and until that day arrives I make no apologies for being an "idiot".