This issue sparks much debate at this time of year. (Think teeth under pillows, Easter chocolate appearing in gardens, Christmas stockings and you’ll get what I’m talking about.)

The thing is, my parents lied to me when I was twelve. That’s my theory. They lied when they said to me that the ho-ho-whole chimney chappie was made up. I reckon they did this as we didn’t have much money and they then needed to buy fewer presents. Stupidly I believed them and stopped believing in the jolly red chap.

BUT - having just returned from the Arctic Circle with my own children (to whom I would never tell such a terrible lie) we met the man himself; he even had the letters they wrote a few weeks ago, and had got them exactly what they had asked for. The whole experience was awesome. We were driven through the snowy arctic pine forests on sleighs pulled by skidoos to the house where we – oh, I don’t want to spoil it.

Anyway, if you ever fancy living out the fantasy, and kind Mr Brown will let you defer your mortgage for a few months, I can recommend it wholeheartedly. And the look on William and Harriet’s face was worth every penny.

Lie to my kids? No way – I’ll remind them of the ‘truth’ we experienced last week for as long as I can - they grow up too fast these days as it is. A cliché? Maybe. But true nonetheless. And if it gets me on the naughty list, so be it. Merry Christmas.