h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

You'll have to excuse the brevity of this journal today; my time is very limited. Not only do I have the bargain, sorry, the night of the year to enjoy in just a few short hours, but I'm up to my neck in car-troubles and up to my armpits in grease. If I can't get this mode of transport to behave, there'll be no souvla or Zivania for me to enjoy tonight.

I loathe modern cars. There's far too many pipes and extraneous wires doing nothing apart from blocking access to the parts that really need regular fondling. I long for the days of simple engineering and stuff that either worked or didn't. Last week, I spent an enjoyable half-hour with Phanis while we mused over the starting issues he had with his Mitsubishi L200. Lest you should Google to offer advice or suggest diagnosis, I'd advise you to rest-steady - a swift application of a hammer-blow to the solenoid has prevented trouble for the foreseeable future and Phanis is now a very happy Cypriot. I will, in due-course, receive many lemons from his trees.

It seems I'm not the only one to think this way. A large proportion of the vehicles seen on Cypriot roads are, quite literally, old bangers. It's fair to say that most should have been condemned to the great junk yard in the sky many moons ago. Yet still they chug along wearily, belching smoke and occasionally divesting themselves of redundant body-panels, hub-caps, and engine components. I'm sure that their proud owners must also appreciate the beauty and simplicity of 1960's engineering.

Many a time I've wondered just how these mobile scrap-heaps pass an MOT; my question was answered just last week when I was in need of certification for my own troublesome beast. Having carefully prepared the vehicle (and parted with €300 for a new set of tyres) I confidently took a trip to the Transport Ministry in Dherynia. I pointed to my shining, lovingly-maintained thoroughbred and requested an MOT only to be met with a grunt and a shrug of the shoulders. For those of you who don't speak Greek, this translates as "You've got no chance buddy". Undeterred, I drove onwards to Frenaros and enquired at a local garage. The owner was only too happy to oblige, quickly removing a stretched Mercedes taxi from the ramp.

He drove my car onto the rolling road to check the condition of the brakes and the shock-absorbers, firstly testing the front and then the rear axle. Next, he attached a probe to the exhaust, revved the engine to 3000 rpm for 30 seconds and waited until a 'beep' sounded indicating a successful emissions-test pass. And then he did it all again, twice more.

After the third set of identical tests, I expected a thorough visual examination of the rest of the vehicle. I was hoping to receive at least some appreciation for the good money spent on new tyres and wiper-blades and for presenting the vehicle spotlessly clean so that his examination was not impeded. Instead, he thrust me my new certificate, deprived me of €35 and sent me on my way.

I never even got a discount. Considering my car had just provided the test results for two other vehicles, I thought that was a trifle mean.

He obviously spotted the new tyres otherwise he'd have gone round kicking them as part of the test.

How ironic would it be if you got hit by one of the other cars you provided emissions tests for?