There was a plume of smoke coming from the engine. Ray Birdlington (known as Bird to his friends) looked at the stream of wires with some despair and wished that he had any idea what might be wrong
"It's your fan belt mate" The voice was nearby, almost lost through the churn of car engines that zoomed by, rocking the car as they went. Ray looked around at the cars, and the hedges but there was no sign of the speaker: just a white horse sticking its head over the fence.
He turned his head back towards the engine and tried hitting various things incase it made some difference, dismissing the voice until the words "it's your fan belt mate" floated towards him once more. Again there was no sign of anyone else but the horse. Could it be??
Ray approached the animal, already concerned that he might be going mad, "excuse me," he said, "but did you just speak"
"Yes mate" the horse said, looking weary, "It's your fan belt"
"What's a fan belt?" Ray asked and, still somewhat bemused, listened as the horse talked him through the repairs until the engine churned into life.
About three miles down the road he came to a pub, The Fawn, and - after his recent experience - the idea of a pint of something extremely alcoholic suddenly seemed appropriate.
He went inside and ordered first one pint and then a second. After the third the barman pulled him to one side and said, "I can't help but notice that you're looking pale my friend"
Ray shook his head, "I feel absolutely insane even saying it: but I broke down at the side of the road, and I could swear that a horse gave me advice about the repairs"
The Barman nodded, "I see..." he paused, "white horse, was it?"
Ray nodded excitedly, "Yes!! Yes it was" he exclaimed, "how did you know?"
The Barman shrugged, "The brown one knows bugger all about cars"