I was left with very little choice after my husband told me, in no uncertain terms, that he would no longer be seen in my old motor.


(I assumed he was joking until he pulled on a balaclava and sunglasses to accompany me to Tesco.)


He said his embarrassment levels had finally reached boiling point when I was overtaken on the motorway by a Reliant Robin.


This, he said, was after weeks of people staring at us thanks to a tractor-like exhaust and a fan-belt so screechy that even the local dogs had started complaining.


And apparently sheer force of will is not enough to hold bodywork together which is 90 per cent rust and 10 per cent air.


Loathe to appear like I was assisting an escaping bank robber, I realised something had to be done - and we set off to look around local car dealers.


Practical as ever, I veered towards the first thing I liked the colour of.


"Not exactly baby-friendly though, is it?" asked Smithy. "A car might be a better idea, unless you're expecting the baby to ride side saddle?"


I conceded defeat and headed away from the motorbikes and over towards the people carriers. But I got distracted along the way by a two-seater convertible.


"Maybe the baby could stay at home while I whizz around the countryside with a scarf on my head?" I said excitedly.


This continued for some time, as Smithy vetoed yet more of my choices (apparently reliability is more important than the fact a car is hot pink...)


But eventually he managed to crack open the lock on his wallet and we put down a deposit on something economical, sensible and with a boot big enough for a pram and several shopping bags.


Basically, I've bought a 'mum' car - although I did manage to win the battle over colour.


Now I just need to trade in my stylish, high-heeled boots for some flat, sensible shoes, and get my hair cut short and 'manageable'.


Remind me again...when did I get old?