Rubrica

  Once upon a time service stations had workshops attached to them. If one needed something mechanical, one could go to the workshop and a bloke in greasy overalls would come out, wiping his hands on an oily rag, and say something like, "G'day, mate/love [strike out whichever is inapplicable] what can I do for you?" Whether one's problem was black smoke emanating from under the bonnet, or a tyre that needed pumping up, the mechanic would deal with it. Now service stations have retail assistants who stand behind virus-and-bullet-proof plexiglass and sell petrol, drinks, snacks, dodgy pies and sandwiches and who have likely never lifted the bonnet of a car or hefted a spanner. If one wants something mechanical done, one has to go to a Mechanical Repairs Centre, which has a reception area with comfy chairs, wifi, a big screen TV, a water cooler and a receptionist whose job it is to keep the general public as far away from the mechanics as possible. One has to b...