All my attempts to look macho and manly are ultimately undermined by my unceasing ignorance about cars.
In the last week my motor has started making nasty grinding noises whenever I turn the wheel. Convinced that the bearings, suspension, dampers, axle or some other component was about to fail, I carried on driving regardless. Because, of course, a broken - or even crashed - car, is preferable to paying money to get it fixed.
Yes, I am a stupid twat.
Today I came to my senses. Partly because I don't want to die in awful crash, but mainly because my MOT is due this month and I thought it would be prudent to get any problems fixed in advance.
So, off I drove to my local garage. Luckily it's nearby, so I didn't have to turn the steering wheel too many times. As I pulled in the friendly mechanic said "Sounds like you've got a problem with your power-steering." Oh, balls! That sounds expensive. At which point he popped the bonnet, unscrewed a cap and poured in some special, magic, pink power-steering fluid.
"Looks like you let this run out", he said.
"I didn't know that there was anything that could run out", I replied.
I asked if it had run out because there was a problem. "Nope. You just have to keep it topped-up. Like the oil and the water."
He unscrewed the cap of the water reservoir.
"Hmmm. Your water's nearly empty too. Here - I'll fill it up for you."
"Oops!", said I, "It's twats like me that keep you in business."
"Yes", he said - fixing me with a look that confirmed that I was indeed a twat of the highest order. "See that?", he asked, pointing at a plastic loop. "That's the dipstick".
"Ha ha ha. Yes, I know", I replied, in a jaunty, look-at-us-grown-men-larking-about-with-cars manner.
In a bid to completely subvert the natural order of such things, the nice mechanic refused to take any payment in exchange for his advice, his fluids and his pointed remarks about my twattedness. Truly, this man is the nicest mechanic in the world. And I'm not telling you where his workshop is.