My favourite Sunday-afternoon memory is of my 18-month-old son disappearing with his grandfather to pick up a vintage car from a few kilometres away.

Naturally, the car didn't run and was in fairly awful condition, but this didn't stop him from climbing in and pretending to drive it for the entire time it was being haggled for, paid for, and loaded onto the trailer.

Of course, from his vantage point he could observe the men walking around the trailer and tightening the tie-downs. When he was dropped off at his home again, he dutifully stamped off to each corner of the trailer, slapped the levers, and grunted stiffly.

He still makes a bee-line for that car whenever we visit the grandparents...