[WARNING - contains strong language and nuts]
It was like having perfect sex, the car and I were one. As I drove my every thought was transformed telepathically into a seamless action from me to the machine, from the machine to me. I was a man-machine. I was a modern day Satyr, half-man, half-Reliant Robin.
Mr Nat, the pompous and egocentric man about town, swaggers suggestively into what he calls his “study” but is in fact a shed in his back yard. He sees himself a sophisticate and is therefore wearing a smoking jacket, plus fours, spats and patent leather sandals. The tasteful odour of his manly aftershave wafts like a mild pea souper permeating the nostrils of innocent persons up to half a mile away.
He is followed by his lowly pupil Paul, a sad, pathetic figure who hero worships Mr Nat and has come to him for advice about how to meet and ingratiate oneself with members of the opposite sex.