Are you a petrosexual?

I am pretty sure that Sylvester is a petrosexual. He will likely be the last man on earth to buy an electric car.

Perhaps I have not introduced Sylvester as best I could. Today I will devote a moment or two to help you understand this man who plays such a large part in my life. And his large part is something I think of very fondly, of course. As he walks up toward my front door, his Harley Davidson leaking oil on my driveway, one can easily tell he is a man of distinction in his lime green shorts, Hawaiian shirt and straw pork pie hat.

It is a source of great concern to me that he has a ludicrous preoccupation with my wife’s friend Amanda, the queen of tweed. There is a sort of twisted logic to this. I should explain, as I know you’re interested.

First of all, Amanda is in a relationship with Marjory, my neighbour. Surprisingly Amanda also had a brief fling with my wife while they were at university together, though I am assured that is all history now. All the same, She Whose Name I Dare Not Speak insists I keep good relations with Amanda.

Secondly, Amanda drives a Prius. Now, correct me if I am wrong — which I am not — but isn’t that a bit ironic since…