"Gliding is one of the safest sports you can do", says the instructor as he shows me towards our glider. "And besides, you'll be wearing a parachute."

A parachute?

I don't know whether to be comforted or alarmed by this news, but in the name of journalism, I put my panic on hold and get kitted up for take-off.

As someone who gets very sweaty palms on a two-hour flight to Alicante, I briefly forget what drove me to try out the delights of motorless flight.

Of course, it is the promise of soaring bird-like over beautiful Fenland countryside that has brought me to the Peterborough and Spalding Gliding Club.

Unfortunately, this is not what is on my mind as I am towed at speed along a grassy runway by a roaring aeroplane, strapped into a small, white pod with wings.

Halfway through our ascent to 2,000ft, I realise this is probably as close to Top Gun as I will ever get in my life.

The student pilot takes the front seat of the aircraft, with the instructor in the back, giving the impression you are flying the thing yourself.

A panel of complicated looking dials and gauges twitches impressively in front of me as I climb up towards the clouds, and I start to feel just a tiny bit like Maverick himself.

Of course, that would be if I wasn't sweating like a polar bear in a sauna and hyperventilating with fear - but who said Tom Cruise wasn't scared on his first outing?

After a few minutes in the air, my instructor, Jeff, releases the cord attached to the plane in front, and we are finally flying free across the Crowland skies.

With the alarming vibrations of the tow plane gone, I start to appreciate why thousands of people take to the skies every weekend.

Man's (and perhaps woman's) desire to fly has driven ever more hi-tech aircraft over the years, but I can't imagine anything beats the haunting peace of flying a glider.

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