Me and my pal Mae stared and stared at my flat as a pancake tyre, but had no clue how to change it.

But, as luck would have it, a handsome young man called Tom pulled over and offered us his assistance.

“Evening ladies,” he attempted to be funny. “You’re looking rather deflated.”

“Yep,” replied Mae, who considers herself to be a bit of a comedienne.

“This is a wheelie bad situation to be in.”

“Well, help is at hand,” Tom retorted.

“You needn’t tyre of this situation any longer.”

“Oh Tom,” Mae flirted.

“I suppose we’ll need to get straight to the nuts.”

I listened to the pair and shook my head.

“That’s one hell-of-a flat tyre right enough,” Tom stared at the wheel.

“It’s only flat on the bottom.” Mae chuckled. “The rest is fine.”

For the next twenty minutes, the loud laughing hyenas bounced off each other with the worst jokes ever.

“Where’s your Jack?”

“Jack who?”

Ha ha ha. The cackling was deafening.

Finally back on the road, I turned to my pal, who was still snorting at her own bad jokes, and said.

“Mae, like it or not, you and I are joining a car mechanics course because I’m fed up looking like a useless idiot whenever anything goes wrong with my car.”

So, after discussing the pros and cons of spending twenty pounds to learn basic car maintenance, we signed up for a three week beginners course at the local college.

“Will we get a certificate at the end of the course?”

“Definitely,” I assured my pal.

Entering the busy classroom, every head turned, but not because we were the only females in the class, no, it seemed that Mae had taken the course very seriously and was decked out in a brand new pale blue boiler suit compete with a designer diamanté belt, a blue Frank Spencer type cap, and a pair of latex free rubber gloves.

“I don’t want to get oil on my clothes or in my nails Janice,” Mae justified her new purchases.

After a quick introduction, our lecturer Billy led us to a mock garage and instructed us to gather round an old Fiat Punto.

“Firstly,” Billy stated.

“Anyone who can’t put air in their tyres or fill their washers shouldn’t be on the road.”

At this point I nudged Mae to keep silent because only the weekend before, she had attempted to put air in her car tyres when a very nice gentleman rolled down his window and shouted.

“Excuse me, do you know that that’s the water hose you’re using to put air in your tyres?”

“Yes,” Mae lied to cover her embarrassment. “I know.”

“I’m washing my wheel trims before I put the air in.”

And apparently, even although it was lashing down, Mae pretended she was washing her hub caps for ages until the old man had driven off.

“Who wants to fill the washers then?”

Silence ensued until Billy turned to Mae.

“Right Miss Boiler Suit,” he drawled sarcastically.

“You can start with this simple task.”

Mae looked at me for guidance as to how to lift the bonnet, but I pretended I was reading a manual and ignored her as I was none the wiser.

Billy, having run out of patience, lifted the bonnet and pointed to where Mae should put the water.

“Billy,” Mae was deadly serious.

“Have you got any Fairy Liquid?”

“Eh?”

“Well, it gives your windies a nice sparkle.”

All the other would be mechanics shook their heads except for Gorgeous George, (that’s how he introduced himself), who seemed to be a few sequins short of a ball gown.

“I think Mae’s right.”

“There’s nothing nicer that a sparkly window.”

Billy’s voice had suddenly gotten somewhat deeper.

“Who wants to do a fluid check?”

“Mmmmm… sounds interesting.” Gorgeous George didn’t seem to be taking the course seriously either, and Billy’s nerves appeared to be getting a little frayed.

“Stuart, you have a go.” Billy turned his focus to the other students.

“John, good work on the oil change.”

“Now it’s important to rotate your tyres …….and.”

Mae butted in. “Don’t they rotate anyway?”

Ignoring her Billy posed the question.

“Now what should be in your tool box?”

“Oh Billy,” sniggered Gorgeous George.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

Paying no heed to his innuendoes Billy continued.

“How do we diagnose a leak?”

Mae and Gorgeous George’s childish sniggering and snorting was more that poor Billy could take.

“Right, enough’s enough,” he yelled.

“George and Mae, I don’t think this course is for you.”

“And you might as well leave too Janice as you’ve contributed very little.”

I was fuming, Gorgeous George couldn’t have cared less and Mae had the cheek to ask.

“Janice, does that mean we don’t get a certificate?”