My wife turned to me the other night and, noting I was staring ahead and not at the book in my hand, asked me what I was thinking about. Was I worrying about the pool?

“No,” I replied. “Just the usual Sunday night puzzle. What am I going to write about this week for the website column?”

Ellie said she would give it some thought, while I reflected on the pool.

No, I was not worried about our wooden, above-ground swimming pool. It is 20 metres square in surface area but aided by a counter-current, I am able to swim on the spot as it were and at 5.5m long and 3.5m wide it is big enough for people to cool off and children to swim. It sounds very swish but the reality is that pool, labour, concrete foundation, lighting the garden and the £900 counter-current cost a total of a tad under £5,000.

The only problem with the pool is that I have been so busy, frantically trying to finish the final project, involving a third of the garden, that I did not treat the pool as a matter of urgency.

By the time I had finished my project, I decided to send the daughters a picture of the new development, as requested but I was loathe to do so as the swimming pool, when the cover was removed, was dark green.

I know what to do in this situation and took the usual route, applying the various chemicals. But, after a week, it remained green. I consulted the experts, looked on the internet and followed further instructions. After another three weeks of repeating the process from start to finish I was given a little hope by the fact the pool water had turned turquoise.

I tested the water and the chart showed me I needed to increase one facet, which I did and, duly, the pool turned blue. The only problem was, the water was cloudy.

Again I knew what to do, but strangely there was no change.

Regrettably, the man who had erected the pool and had advised on many facets of life in The Tarn, including the treating of the pool water, had decided to call an end to his ex-pat life. He loved it out here and the children were happy at school but his wife was unable to get job and was bored.

“A bored 42-year-old wife is not a recipe for a long marriage,” he said and headed back.

Why couldn’t she have got a job, I reflected, as I wrestled with the pool water, baffled by the cloudiness.

Finally, I bought yet another bottle of pond-clearing fluid and was fortunate in finding the instructions were written in English and French. It was then that it dawned on me. To clear the water I needed to turn the pump and filter off, add the liquid and wait. Previously, I had kept the pump on.

It worked perfectly. The water was clear but I had to vacuum up a load of dead algae from the bottom the next morning. So, no, I was not worried about the pool and I couldn’t really write a column about it.

As I was nodding off to sleep, I recalled that I had seen an item in my perusal of the Sunday papers on line that had annoyed me. A woman had written in the Daily Mail that it was wrong to blame parents for the fact their children are obese.

Apparently it is the fault of the food and drink manufacturers who produce all these alluring adverts. I read on and was further baffled.

As I was bought up in the 1940s, my parents took the responsibility for my upbringing. If I asked for a treat, the reply would be either yes or no. If it was yes, I was pleased. If it was no, that was it. There would be an explanation as to why it was “no” - such as it is not good for you or whatever. I knew the decision was made and if I whined or sulked I would be punished, so that was the end of the matter.

Now it transpires, judging by the comments sent in by readers under the article, claiming parents were not to blame for their children’s obesity, the word “no” has gone out of current currency. If the children see something they want, they demand it and the parent acquiesces. So it is not the parent’s fault for saying “yes” but the advertiser’s fault for flagging up these things children want.

I read of one mother who now refuses to take her children to the supermarket for just this reason. Apparently they spend the entire time badgering her for this or that. I reflected it must have been simple parenting in my parent’s days. They said “no” and that was it. I had lost that one, perhaps I might win the next.

I fell asleep wondering why modern parents just do not say “no” and mean it. Doubtless some child psychologist has written a load of bumf on why parents should not use the no-word.

The next morning I made the tea and coffee, slipped back into bed and was asked if I had thought of anything to write about.

“Because I have solved the problem,” Ellie told me. “I went to sleep wondering what you could write about and then, in my dreams, it came to me. You can write about the snake incident.”

“What snake incident,” I asked, slightly perplexed?

Silence greeted me.

“Sorry. I have just realised. There has not been a snake incident but I dreamt there had been and I had told you to write about it.”

I thought this over and asked if she thought, hand on heart, the day was going to get any better than this.