My car broke down yesterday which was predictable I suppose, just as predictable as me pretending I know what I am talking about to a mechanic.

Mechanic: ” Judging by the sound of it, that would be your catalytic converter, or a crack in the turbo pipe Bob.”

Me: “Yeah thought it might be one of those two”

Mechanic: “Better leave it here bob we will run a diagnostic test on it and give you the full SP.”

Bob: “Huh I suppose so, not like the old days when I could do it myself with a Haynes manual eh.”

Fuck me, I was lying more than I usually do in these situations.

Mechanic: “Do us a favour, flip open the lid so I can have a quick look.”

The fucker had rumbled me, he had sussed I knew fuck all, and was going to make me squirm for having the audacity to pretend otherwise.

Me: “Right you are……huh, bloody lever………. always forget where it is.”

I was sweating and in total panic now, under the dashboard not wanting to emerge. I didn’t know where the bloody bonnet lever was, I didn’t have a fucking clue.

Mechanic: “Out the way, I will do it you despicable cretin.”

He didn’t say that but he might as well of done. He popped the lever went round to the grill of the car to release the latch and open the bonnet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I had snapped it off on my last attempt to open the bonnet in Biarritz!

Mechanic: ” Where the bloody hell is the latch gone?”
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Me: “Errrr it was there the other day when I put some water in it.”
Liar

Mechanic: “Well, it’s not bloody there now, it’s sanpped clean off”.

Me: “Shit, it must have been that pheasant I hit yesterday”.

Terrible liar. Oh god what was I saying, that was an awful, awful lie that he wouldn’t entertain in his wildest dreams, I was digging my way to Australia. Hit a Pheasant? What he hell was I thinking!!

Mechanic: “A Pheasant!!!! A pheasant couldn’t snap that…….not unless it had some mole grips with it! I’ll go and get a bloody screwdriver.”

Then my house mate Steve turned up to rescue me and I dashed off. I couldn’t have been more emasculated if the mechanic had cut my testicles off, it was awful, truly awful.

Steve: “What was the problem”?

Me: “Fuck knows Steve, I fucking hate cars.”