If you ever make the mistake of taking your toddler along to a vehicle rally, don't expect them to be remotely interested in any of the vintage cars on show.
Do expect them to be fully fascinated by the 21st century fire engine, burger van and model bus stall though.
In fact, if they ever run a toy vehicle rally, your toddler will probably be a thousand times more captivated by that.
Louie's complete disregard and lack of appreciation for classic cars occurred at the recent Gosporteers Vehicle Rally at Stokes Bay.
Our ambitious intention was that the annual event, which this year marked its 65th anniversary, might keep us all occupied for a couple of hours.
You really would think we'd know better by now, wouldn't you? No longer can we still say we're so inexperienced as parents, that we don't know what will and won't keep an almost three-year-old on the edge of his seat.
In fairness, we did successfully achieve 50 per cent of our aim. Half the family were entertained, although I'm not entirely convinced Kerrie wasn't just auditioning for an acting role as we dawdled our way around the site.
Louie, on the other hand, was a lot harder to impress, and Lennie was out for the count and dreaming of his next feed shortly after we'd applied the handbrake in the car park.
In all honesty, our dogs would have had a better time and shown greater excitement as we weaved our way past the many cars, vans and motorbikes on display.
Rosie, the Chinese Crested Powder Puff, would have probably tried humping one of the wheels or something similar, but that would have only been her subtle way of indicating she was enjoying herself.
And Rupert, the Yorkshire Terrier, would have most likely tried biting off one of the exhaust pipes, but that too would have just been his clever way of demonstrating what a really good time he was having.
For the eldest though, not even a 1960s Ford Mustang, Chevrolet Bel Air, Pink Cadillac, Pontiac Silver Streak or 1954 Chevy Coupe would cut any mustard. That said, he did briefly pose for some photos in front of a few, but that was probably just his smart and pretty effective way of appeasing us.
He simply wanted to keep us sweet until we finally succumbed and bought him the sausage and 'chippies' he'd pleaded for since first clapping eyes on the hot food van - or rather, clapping nose on the wafting smells coming from within the aforementioned van.
We did eventually succumb to his request, so from that point of view, it was job done as far as he was concerned.
Tesco ride saved our day
Two pounds and 70 pence is all that separates the world's worst and world's best dad, I've discovered.
Having repeatedly fobbed Louie off with a pathetic 'next time, next time' excuse on our previous visits to Tesco, I've finally kept a two-year long promise to him.
And, all it costs to achieve the prestigious, albeit fleeting, 'Best Dad' title, was 30p short of £3. Now, that's not a bad price for such a high accolade.
As we hurriedly passed the coin-operated Thomas ride for the umpteenth time, Louie spotted it for the umpteenth time and I, for the umpteenth time, had no change on me.
As we exited the supermarket, I let him sit on it, minus the crucial motion which actually makes it a ride.
I then glanced up to spot another boy who was waiting for a go. This lad's mum actually had the decency to bring some cash with her, so I plucked Louie from the train and carried him sobbing back to the car.
His distressing cry distressed me. I felt like the worst human alive. I withdrew some money, bought The Sun, just to receive some pound coins you understand, and let him have three goes on it, cheering us both up in the process.
No, it may not exactly be a thrill-seeker's ride, but he's not stopped reliving it since.