LET’S just say my son has a very male attitude to shopping. As a baby he invariably took one of two approaches to a trip into town – screaming or sleeping through it.

It meant I very quickly perfected the art of the mum’s dash.

Run in, hurriedly gather up a couple of items and pay for them without trying them on.

As any mother knows, entering a hot, enclosed space such as a changing room with an unhappy child is a fate far worse than having to return to the shop to bring back any clothes that don’t fit.

I thought that was bad but then he got a bit older and the game changed.

He was more amenable to a trip into town but only if he could walk.

So the pushchair was relegated to the car and the real fun started.

Shopping with a walking child is fine, if you don’t mind going at snail’s pace. And forget walking in a straight line. Instead you ricochet from one side of the road to the other as items of interest come into view.

So if you ever see a woman being dragged towards the electronic train in Broad Street, Worcester, then, yes, that is me.

Or if you spot someone trying to lure a small boy away from that cluster of machines in the CrownGate that sell weird plastic balls emblazoned with children’s TV characters (what are these things?), that’s me too.

I’m also the harrassed-looking mum waiting impatiently while he insists on jumping over every single crack in the pavement.

All this pales into insignificance, however, compared with the nightmare of going into the shops.

Three-year-olds (or is it just mine?) don’t seem to understand that you can look without touching.

So it’s not unusual for me to browse through the cards only to discover my son has helped himself to a boxed golf lesson or a weekend at the theatre for two.

You invariably find yourself hissing, “Will you stop that”

repeatedly while other shoppers pretend – with barely disguised contempt – not to look at you.

It’s all just very embarrassing.

The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that in a few years’ time it will be me shuffling along while he waits impatiently.

I’m going to milk it for all its worth.