I had an interesting chat with a client today about how magical it is when our children believe in that man with the red and white outfit, chubby red face and white beard.

I know a family member had been concerned that there was no chimney for him to get down so how would his presents be delivered? Now that’s a darn good question from a child who has seriously thought things through. All joking apart it is a sad day, when it comes, when they realise the tooth fairy is really mum and that Father Christmas is dad dressed up.

I remember one year hiding presents in a neighbour’s house and ‘Dad’ going to collect them ready for Christmas morning, it had been snowing so subsequently there was a trail of foot prints to the door. My daughter was very excited when she saw these and that Father Christmas had indeed been…and left gifts.

Trying to keep the child within us alive becomes more difficult as we grow up but remembering those halycon days brings back that warm feeling.

I recall my last Christmas before my father died and how my mum had let me have a sneaky peek at my dolls house. I can smell that turkey cooking and if I close my eyes I can see mum having her glass of sherry as she busily prepared for the madness that was Christmas with five children.

The drinks of that era were of course babycham, snowballs and for dad it was whisky and ginger. The chocolate decorations on the tree were really brilliant in those days too, umbrellas, watches and little slithers of chocolate tied up as parcels. Anybody remember the liquorice novelties?