Poor Peter can't find a cheap car insurance quote; Peter, my childhood best friend and the only person I went to both primary and secondary school with. When we were all nine years old and on the cusp of "Infinity Nineties" he was both the school's outstanding athlete and its resident expert on all things cool. This continued until he was about twelve when, for some reason, his development suddenly became arrested and, slowly but surely, everyone began to overtake him in the academic, athletic and cool-factor stakes.
I remember first bonding with Peter over our shared love of cars. I had brought my Dukes of Hazard die-cast model to class with me one day and he had brought a model of the Batmobile that is featured in the 1960s television series. Until then we'd been quite shy with each other but by three-o'clock of the same afternoon we'd agreed an exchange that effectively made us new best friends.
And so we remained for another eight or nine years, until I noticed that Peter's fixation with high-performance automobiles didn't exactly win over the girls, and decided it would be best to distance myself from him. Not that I had lost interest in cars altogether, I just found something a bit weird about a fascination with cars that, in my opinion, verged on the pornographic.
Where, by the age of fourteen, I had pictures of bikini-clad girls all over my bedroom wall and seemed to fall in love with whoever was unfortunate enough to cross the field of my glazed adolescent eyes, Peter just had pictures of Lamborghinis, Ferraris and pimped-up Suzukis all over his.
Then I learned a new word - Mechaphilia: a condition characterised by people becoming attracted to and sometimes sexually involved with cars and other mechanical machinery, mostly vehicles.
Peter was almost certainly not gay, but he seemed to express little interest in girls, and seemed, when talking about cars, to swoon, blush and experience the kind of agony-ecstasy polarisation of emotions that I felt when ruminating on my crushes. My prurient and overactive adolescent imagination could not help but drawing the conclusion that Peter was, without doubt, a rampant and incontrovertible mechaphiliac.
By the age of seventeen, although Peter and I had moved into separate social circles, our friendship, forged in formative years, was not altogether forgotten, so we did talk occasionally. And while most of my contemporaries, myself included, were busy telling all who would listen about our, mostly fictitious, prolific love lives, Peter's sole rite of passage seemed to be when he managed to find a cheap car insurance quote for his first ever car, a battered but mildly pimped-up BMW.
Then school finished and, inevitably, I only saw Peter at the odd reunion gathering. It was during one of these a couple of years ago that I realised how depressed seeing him made me feel. He had not evolved at all. He still wore a baseball cap (emblazoned with the Bentley logo), a Timberland t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms, a bumbag and a pair of Nike Air 180s - garments that have comprised a virtual uniform for Peter since 1991; Infinity Nineties, indeed.
He also spent practically the whole reunion cornering then boring his alumni with tales of how he was hoping to complete enhancing his Toyota sports car in time for when he regained his driving license (offence, speeding).
If Peter is in fact a mechaphiliac, he is not alone. Just this year I read about one American man who is something of a Lothario with the cars. He claims to have made love to over 1000 vehicles.
The 57-year-old, who lost his "virginity" to an unnamed vehicle at the age of 15, explains, "I appreciate beauty and I go a little bit beyond appreciating the beauty of a car only to the point of what I feel is an expression of love," he said.
"Maybe I'm a little bit off the wall but when I see movies like Herbie and Knight Rider, where cars become loveable, huggable characters it's just wonderful.
"I'm a romantic. I write poetry about cars, I sing to them and talk to them just like a girlfriend. I know what's in my heart and I have no desire to change.
"I'm not sick and I don't want to hurt anyone, cars are just my preference."
I wonder how Peter, who was an ardent fan of the 1980s television helicopter show Airwolf, would take the news that the unashamed mechaphiliac rates an encounter with the actual helicopter that was used in the series as his greatest and most intense sexual experience.
Anyway, only last week I saw Peter, still living with his parents, busy polishing pimped-up Alfa Romeo outside his family home.
"Hello, Peter," I said. "You've got a new car I see."
"No," he replied. The car wasn't new, he had had it for two years but had been unable to get a cheap car insurance quote for it. Apparently it is too high perfomance and is fitted with too many expensive accessories, something that, with his poor driving record considered, does not make it a viable vehicle for motor insurance.
"Why do you keep it though?" I asked. "I just love it," Peter replied. "It's a really exciting car and I've grown very attached to it. I couldn't bear the thought of someone else driving it. I don't even like people looking at it without me around. I have to keep it in the garage."
Well, if he feels that strongly, I guess keeping it in the garage is not such a bad idea. After all, Peter would hate to be woken in the middle of the night by its sounding alarm to find it smothered by a dark shadowy figure.
You never know. Just listen to what the American mechaphiliac had to say, "There are moments way out in the middle of nowhere when I see a little car parked and I swear it needs loving.
"There have been certain cars that attracted me and I would wait until night time, creep up to them and just hug and kiss them.
"As far as women go, they never really interested me much. And I'm not gay."

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