Santa Claus is God. Probably.

Having a four-year-old is great. Especially at this time of year.

Heather has been amusing me and Jill with her constant evaluation of the forthcoming festivities. She wanted to know how Santa got in.

'Down the chimney, of course,' I said.

'But we haven't got a chimney.'

Very observant. 'He comes through the door, then.'

'Have you give him a key?'

'Hm, no. Not yet.'

She was so worried I've had to hang an ornamental key on the door to put her mind at rest.

She is also leaving out two glasses of Bailey's and a couple of mince pies, for Mr & Mrs Claus, as well a carrot and a bowl of water for Rudolph. I persuaded her that Mrs Claus would be coming as I wanted two glasses of Bailey's and two pies. Jill pointed out that I can help myself to a drink at any time, I don't need to warp our daughter's beliefs. Which is true, I suppose. What can I say? I'm getting caught up in all these lies we tell our kids.

Like this whopper: Santa is everywhere, like Jesus or God. So behave yourself, because if you're naughty, he'll see you and uou won't get any presents!

Every now and again, Heather looks upwards and shouts something along the lines of:: 'Santa, I've changed my mind, I want a Bratz hair braider, not a Barbie one!'

Merry Christmas, everybody.