When I was a child, most of our family outings involved a walk of some sort.

Whether around a town, along the coast or – more usually – across the North York Moors, my heart would sink when my dad took a heap of mud-caked boots from a kitchen cupboard and carried them out to the car.

My brother, sister and I moaned like crazy, especially as, with my dad at the helm, a two-mile walk translated as 12 miles. Also, through map reading error and, I suspect, deliberate choice, the route often took us across uncharted terrain – squelchy bogs, sharp rocks and the like.

My dad always pretended that he knew what he was doing, and in early childhood we believed him, but as teenagers we were far more sceptical.

Though we complained and nursed many blisters, looking back it was fun, even when, thanks to my dad taking a wrong turn (or maybe it was Wainwright’s fault – it was his book Dad was using), we were almost benighted on a mountain in Borrowdale in the Lake District.

And as any walker will verify, finishing a walk, particularly one that has lasted an entire day, is very satisfying. I used to love returning to the twinkling lights of Keswick after a long walk, and sitting down to a lovely home-cooked meal.

Since my own children were small, I’ve planned to put them through the same torture, in the knowledge that they would, as I do, look back fondly on the experience.

Things started off well, and we have many photographs of small bundles being carried across Lakeland passes in backpacks and, later, as toddlers, walking alongside us across the Yorkshire moors.

But like much on the wish list of child-rearing – reading bedtime stories, having meals ready after school (as opposed to ready-meals after school), never losing your temper – these good intentions were not followed through.

We head out on the odd blink-and-you-miss-it walk, but nothing worthy of a compass, whistle and torch. I’m determined that this will change. National Walking Month has thrown this pastime into the spotlight, and I’ve been cutting walks from newspapers in readiness for a new, healthier lifestyle The worry is, I think I may have left it too late. With two teenage daughters, weekends are more about malls than fells, and I can’t see them wanting to sacrifice a day at New Look and Nandos for a packed lunch on a windswept hillside.

It might be that I’m on to a loser and have to wait another 20 years before my children start appreciating such things. By which time I’ll probably be fit for nothing more than a five-minute saunter along Scarborough sea front.