As I sit here writing I have a lovely view out of the window next to my desk. It’s a lovely sunny day, and is surprisingly warm. Two doors down there is a guy who likes to tinker with cars. I’ve not seen that many bits of car laid out on the pavement since I removed the front crossmember of my old Volvo 740 to change the timing belt and water pump. That was a big job. He, however, appears to have broken his car. Badly. Now there’s four people stood shaking their heads and doing that sharp inhaling of air through teeth thing that garage mechanics do a lot. Should front wheels on a car ever point in radically different directions whilst blue coloured water dribbles down the road?