We are driving down an unfamiliar highstreet. I have one eye on the Sat Nav and the other on the Volvo driver in front who is pointing out something to his front seat passenger and veering between the lanes.
T pipes up from the back. 'Mummy, look a card shop!'
Volvo driver suddenly speeds up as he notices the lights start to change and we get stuck on red. I look around, absentmindedly trying to spot Clinton's, wondering why my still two year old would be able to recognise it from a distance.
There's an M&S, a couple of estate agencies and a snooker hall. No cards in sight.
'Where's the card shop darling?'
There Mummy, the one with the horse on it, but you don't need to buy a card because you've got one already. In your purse.
He pointed to the bank.
There followed an interesting discussion about cash cards versus birthday cards. I am fairly relieved this came up before I found him feeding my Mastercard into the local postbox.