WAS once foolish enough to buy a third-hand Mercedes, visibly leaking oil, from a man with a bristly moustache and a repellent manner. ‘We call her the Duchess,’ he lied, patting the roof. I eventually bought the car to shut him up. Of course, the head gasket had blown and, within a fortnight, I watched the car being towed away to the breaker’s yard. I rang the.
