First things first, and the first thing in question is that I’m no motorist, so do not get it twisted.

By "I’m no motorist” I mean that I still go about my travels and errands on foot, like a cow. Inka. I don’t know who is cursing me, but somehow, at my age and years of experience in the world of employment, I’m still here, right at the bottom where I started.

Not being a motorist however does not mean that you will find me cowering in a corner when people are talking autos.

I know a lot about cars and about driving. That is why, a while ago when I scribbled in these pages something juicy about the monstrosity of a ride, the beast that is the Toyota Rando Kuruza V8, everybody listened. V8 owners read the article and were left in awe of my ability to describe the car’s swag to the last nitty-gritty detail.

Chauffeurs were left in awe of the same, even chauffeurs of Ipsums and Starlets and Toyota Premios and Escudos and Vitaras and Tuaregs.

It was the same for car mechanics, who wondered how a journalist can know so much about a particular make of car, especially a journalist that still locomotes by padding their feet on the ground.

And talking of mechanics, that is another area over which I boast so much expertise. Yes, I know a lot, if not too much about your typical auto mechanic, and the first tide bit of info in that regard is that I know many of them whose lips have come to be as dark as their diesel and grease-soaked hands.

We can blame the black, greasy forehands on the engine oil and grease in the car’s joints, but how is one to explain the darkened lips? Well, the explanation for this strange phenomenon can be found in the hundreds of Intore cigarette butts and packets that are to be found littering every mechanic’s yard.