The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 11 (February 1, 1936)
Then there is the car adviser who can solve any problem about any car —except his own—which he always sends to the repair shop for renovation. Let you but lift the bonnet and twiddle the plugs to see why she makes a noise like an egg-beater and he is on you. He loves to advise on cars; there is so much about cars which fairly shrieks for advice. The sight of a car's “innards” incites him to a fury of practical advice. He elbows you off your own engine. Before you can say “Henry Ford” he has disarmed you of spanner and pliers and has unscrewed everything unscrewable; he has also uncoiled everything uncoilable, unsprung every spring and hit everything in sight with a hammer. He wades round, up to his ankles, in the dismembered bits of your engine. He holds a carburretter in his teeth, a cylinder head in each hand, and his pockets are full of tiddley bits. Until dark he tells you exactly where the trouble lies, and then he packs all the bits into your tool box and goes home.