Sometimes I am reminded why I am such a bad dad. After a difficult evening trying to get William and Harriet to sleep (in which they came downstairs several times) wewere at the end of our tether. William had been hiding on the stairs, unbeknown to either of us, watching the season finale of The Mentalist.

For those who aren’t as sad as me, this is an American cop show about an FBI squad that is chasing a serial killer called Red John. Typically, it was a particularly gruesome episode in which we witness a couple of murders.

And so does our stowaway on the stairs. Oh good. And now not only can he not sleep but he is absolutely terrified that Red John is going to come and kill us all in ourbeds. Super parenting, that.

He is sent to bed after much convincing that it’s just actors. But it gets worse.

Even later,both he and 6-year old Harriet appear downstairs yet again (it’s about halfpast 9 at this point) and present us with a ‘we love mummy and daddy’ card.

Normal loving parents would surely have given them a smile and a big hug. Would that have been so hard? Probably not, but oh no, I had to make it a big issue thatyet again they had got out of bed very late despite several warnings. I told them off instead of thanking them for their loving gesture, and surprise, surprise, Harriet burst into tears and I had to spend 10 minutes hugging her in bed until she calmed down.

This morning she came into our room with another card saying ‘sorry’. Guess how great I feel now? We live and learn. Well – we live.