As our plane taxied to a halt, a few passengers broke into applause. It had been a flawless landing. The pilot had done a good job.

However, after three hours in cattle class I was keen to get off the plane and start our holiday in Sorrento. Crawling under my seat in search of my paperback, I barely registered the stewardess’s voice over the address system as she welcomed us to Italy.

It was only as she chirpily wished us a happy holiday on behalf of Captain Maria and the crew that my ears pricked up. Maria? As in The Sound of Music’s Maria? Isn’t that a girl’s name? I tried to suppress the feeling rising in my chest. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.

‘Did you hear that?’ I said in a stage whisper to my husband, Martin. ‘A woman flew us here.’

‘So what?’ he replied.

It won’t be a popular admission, but I was genuinely unsettled. Especially since the announcements throughout the flight had been delivered by a male voice (the co-pilot’s, it turned out). Captain Maria hadn’t uttered a word. This, Martin pointed out, may even have been because the airline didn’t want chauvinist pigs like me ‘freaking out’ that a woman was the pilot.

Angela Epstein says she felt unsettled after finding out a female pilot had flown the plane she was on (file photo)

I felt a flush of indignation. Could it be true that, despite Captain Maria’s skill and extensive training, she’d hidden behind a male colleague because of her sex?

But I had to concede that I was, as Martin put it, ‘freaking out’. I was behaving like a chauvinist pig. I felt unsettled knowing that the person responsible for our safety as we hurtled through the sky at 35,000 feet was a woman.

Before bra-burners smoulder into Vesuvian outrage, let me declare my hand. I know that the problem wasn’t our pilot. Or any woman whose professional role necessitates responsibility for my physical wellbeing. It’s me. I’m simply a closet sexist, much happier when certain jobs, from pilot to heart surgeon, are done by men.

It makes no sense, I know. I believe in equality of opportunity, and applaud the fact that women are key players in so many spheres. Look no further than Brenda Hale, who last month was appointed as the the first female president of our Supreme Court.

I want my 13-year-old daughter to power through the glass ceiling, confident that her gender will never compromise her ambition.

I was educated at Manchester High School for Girls, the alma mater of suffragette Christabel Pankhurst. I was taught to believe that with hard work, focus and determination, I — or any woman — could do anything.

I am also a rigid believer in meritocracy, and abhor the idea of female quotas and women-only shortlists. Employers should choose me for my qualifications, not my two X chromosomes.

It’s not as if I believe men are more capable, either. Rafts of research disprove this idea. Earlier this year, a study in the journal JAMA Internal Medicine found elderly patients treated by female doctors had lower mortality and hospital readmission rates compared to those cared for by men. And women in the UK are now 35 per cent more likely than men to go to university.

Angela describes herself as a 'closet sexist', much happier when certain jobs are done by men -even though she acknowledges it makes no sense (file photo)

So why do I panic when I discover my pilot is a woman — surely it can’t be just because they are such a rarity? (According to the British Women Pilots’ Association, just 5 per cent of the UK pilot workforce is female.)

In fact, I am displaying ‘benevolent sexism’ — an antiquated form of chivalry which casts women as weak creatures in need of men’s protection. Research has shown that some women are just as likely to show it as men.

Last month experts at the University of Queensland found that women who believed relationships between people should be based on hierarchy rather than equality, also felt they needed to rely on men to provide for them.

They felt uncomfortable when these roles were reversed. And I am one of these women. Roaring in my ears is a chauvinistic demon reminding me of women’s weaknesses. I can’t forget them — because I display many of them.

For example, I become a terrible driver at certain times of the month. Might my pilot be flying when she’s pre-menstrual?

Martin can shake off an argument with our teenagers, but they leave me distracted and upset for days. Could she be prone to getting flustered?

She says that the patriarchal image of the male protector - though outdated - is to blame (file photo)

And if a baby cries in the night, it’s usually the mother who hears it first, and gets up to deal with it. She’s far more likely to be the more exhausted partner.

The moment I know a woman is in charge of an aircraft, these thoughts race through my mind. I’ve been like this since I first heard a female voice offering flight details as we cruised into the sky, nine years ago. It wasn’t a comfortable flight. It didn’t help that she sounded young. My relief at landing was overwhelming.

I berated myself, but my chauvinism lingers. My husband and three sons, meanwhile, are more likely to remember what they had for their in-flight meal than the sex of the pilot.

My prejudices are not limited to women doing men’s jobs. When I have medical issues, especially anything personal, I shrink at the thought of explaining the problem to a male GP. I assume women doctors will be more caring, sensitive and knowledgeable.

Occupational psychologist Dr Sandi Mann, of the University of Central Lancashire, says I’m not totally beyond redemption. She explains that reactions like mine are often a reflection of feeling out of one’s comfort zone. Our patriarchal image of the male protector — though outdated — colours my view to the point where I feel odd when there’s no man in charge.

Traditionally, men were rescuers. There are still women of a certain age who feel more secure with a man in big roles, even if they realise it’s illogical

‘Traditionally, men were rescuers. There are still women of a certain age who feel more secure with a man in big roles, even if they realise it’s illogical. Things will change but such paradigm shifts can take a generation.’

Part of the issue is the idea of chivalry which comes with the rescuer role. If I were having surgery, I’d probably feel better if my consultant was a specialist with gunmetal hair and a crisp white shirt rather than a glamorous blonde, who I might see as a rival in another setting.

That’s why I can’t quite buy the idea of Dr Who as a woman. To me, it is a male role — part naughty schoolboy, part absent-minded professor — with a dash of romantic saviour. How can a woman catch the nuances of our beloved Time Lord?

Thank heavens Daniel Craig has signed up for one more Bond. Good old 007 may be a sexist dinosaur, but I still prefer it when a granite-tough alpha male saves the world.

I love the fact that I can retreat into my husband’s arms as we watch a scary film, and instantly feel safe. Or that he carries the passports and organises car hire when we go on holiday.

Of course, I hope women continue to reach for the sky and that our sex makes more strides in all areas of professional life.

But since we’re all entitled to a voice, forgive this romantic sop whose instinct draws her to a man to make her feel safe.

As for female pilots, I applaud your skill and achievement. I know I’m safe when you’re in the cockpit. But I might keep my eyes closed until we land.