My husband has just subjected the children to what they described as "a boring afternoon."

Not that they were sitting around twiddling their thumbs, racking their brains for something to do – they were sitting in front of the TV, watching the Magnificent Seven.

Being one of my husband’s favourite films – many of which are westerns – he wanted his offspring to experience the thrills and spills of this classic.

But, instead of sitting riveted, like they do in front of High School Musical or The Simpsons, they fidgeted and yawned, and at regular intervals uttered the words “Oh Daaad, do we have to watch this?”

They didn’t understand why the characters were so fidgety, why their hands were always poised over their holsters, why they were always on edge. And they didn’t think much of the encounters with the bandits. "Not very exciting," said one.

As far as I know that is their first taste of westerns. It is quite the opposite to my youth, when children were raised on a diet of cowboy films. Scarcely a day went by when there wasn’t a Wild West movie or series on the TV – High Chaparral, Alias Smith and Jones, The Virginian (I can even remember when the Virginian was on, Friday evening about 7ish, before It’s a Knockout).

As a result every boy, and a fair few girls, played cowboys and Indians – charging around gardens, whipping guns from holsters and dodging arrows, recreating scenes from the wild west.

The kids of today think the Wild West is the Cumbrian mountains and a saloon is where mum gets her hair done.

I haven’t seen children playing cowboys and Indians for a long time.

It’s not because guns are taboo – you see plenty for sale in toy shops, although they’re more Terminator than Gunfight at the OK Corral. And I don’t think its anything to do with the now frowned-on use of the word Indians instead of the politically correct Native Americans.

Its simply because children don’t see it. Westerns used to be aired at prime viewing times, from early evening onwards. Watching men on horseback gallop through canyons, pursued by Indians – or the other way around – was as familiar as car chases are today.

Everyone knew about Wild Bill Hickok, Dodge City and Deadman’s Creek. My daughters don’t, and I find that sad. Short of strapping them to the sofa and making them watch every film John Wayne and Co. ever made, I don’t know what can be done.

Did you enjoy the western? I asked my youngest daughter an hour after she’d seen the Magnificent Seven. “What’s a western?” she replied.