Stereotype

This happens to me every year.

It is that time of year again.
It causes me no little pain.

For whilst I know is has to be
I have no love for MOTs.

Knowing my car is safe to drive
Helps my mind to rest at night

So, all alone, I take the car
To the garage, it's not far

And yet another world it seems,
Another language, headlight beams.

They ask me questions - I don't know
What MPG, if oil is low?

They look with pity, or maybe greed,
And on my ignorance they feed.

Never nasty, never bullish
But every year I feel like rubbish

Because I cannot, let's be honest
Even open up the bonnet.