While world leaders decide on global matters of great importance, I have spent the last two days knitting a new net for the trampoline.

Now needlepoint isn’t my strong suit. I’m the kind of mother who, despite having efficiently ordered embroidered labels with the family crest from the last school fundraising push, was writing the children’s names on the cladding of her fully-dressed children with an old biro on the first day of term.

And when I say knitting the net, I should be more honest and make it clear that really I’m just mending the massive rips and rents that can only have been caused by the synchronised bounce of a whole school class through the fabric into the wild prickle patch that’s cultivating itself magnificently alongside the trampoline.

Now call me a tyrant if you will, but I do insist upon the children only using a trampoline if there’s a net around it. While we’ve never broken bones on this particular trampoline, a trampoline was undoubtedly the culprit in our most recent twin fractures of radius and ulna in the forearm, and it isn’t really fair the way we hog the x-ray machine at the John Radcliffe.

Besides, I’m not sure the nurses are ready to see us again quite so soon and I’m still saving for another mini-break in the car park.

You know, I’d rather like it if my children were musical and spent their time delighting me safely with Fandango’s Waltz in a flute and piano harmony. It’d certainly cause less wear and tear on their clothes.

However, as we only managed a year of keyboard before expulsion and dropped quietly away from guitar class, I think sing-a-longs around the piano are only likely if the von Trapp children pop by for afternoon tea.

I suppose I should set aside a little time every few days to blast out a melodic London’s Burning on the recorder with a Connie Fisher smile, but if leading by example is the route to success, then my children are most likely to succeed on some dusty country track with a water bottle in one hand and a snap-happy camera in the other.

Off-road biking is another activity where every path seems to lead to Accident and Emergency so I suppose I should just be grateful that at least trampolining accidents are likely to happen close to home.

And I’ll be giving The Children very strict instructions to tell me if any new holes even begin to appear in the netting before I let them out to bounce. Besides, I’ve told them that if I get any more knitting practice I’ll be able to home-knit them all new jumpers for the winter. That should do the trick.