MY trouble is, I’m too easily inspired.

Take Wimbledon. I remember way back when, having spent a fortnight mesmerised by the drama on TV, I dug out a rather ancient and battered tennis racket from the loft and persuaded a reluctant companion to join me on a tennis court.

With effort and grunts worthy of champions, we tried to hit the ball to each other just to see how long we could keep it going. However, our court seemed to have a much larger net than the ones you see on TV.

While the elegant stars of the Centre Court directed the ball effortlessly into the corners, we directed it unerringly into the net. After an hour, we managed a rally of three shots each and gave up any attempt to prolong the agony.

The same thing happened when I was watching the snooker. A £25 secondhand pool table from an Alabaré charity shop seemed like a bargain. Determined to impress my 12-year-old son with prowess honed in the youth clubs of my dim and all too distant teenage years, I picked up a cue.

Alas, whereas the pockets on TV welcomed their coloured visitors with open arms, the pockets on our table repelled them while the cushions attracted them. I realised why it had been returned to the charity shop – it was defective. An oddly intermittent fault that failed replication when my son took a shot.

On the rare occasions when a pocket opened up sufficiently to let one of my coloured balls in, it invariably swallowed the cue ball as well.

I would need to provide evidence beyond the pool table if I were to convince my son of a misspent youth.

I have displayed the same success with dog training. If Barbara Woodhouse could do it, I could. One click of her fingers and the wolverine DNA would absent itself from the average exuberant pooch, which would then obey her every whispered command.

The problem is, Barney has an intermittent hearing problem. He responds readily to the commands “Eat”, “Sleep”, “Find a squirrel” and the silently spoken “Ignore the ball – I threw it so I will go and find it...”

But his deafness becomes apparent when I try “Come back,” “Ignore the deer,” and “Put down that sandwich – it’s not our picnic.”

I’ve learned to walk a tightrope between being inspired and feeling discouraged on realising that making it look so easy is part of expertise. But I’ll still bake, dance, and cook along with the rest of the British TV viewing public.

We’re British, after all; having a go is still more important than winning.

Just caught the tail end of the Tour de France. Now where did I put those cycle clips…?