In our house, Santa Claus keeps an eye on the children via CCTV cameras

‘Daddy, there’s something I want to ask you,’ said Sasha, my fiveyear-old daughter, as she was eating her supper.

‘Yes darling?’ ‘Is Father Christmas real?’ This is a question that every parent will be asked sooner or later and my friends are divided about how you should respond. Children will eventually learn that the universe is a disenchanted place — no fairies, no flying carpets and no Santa Claus. Should we try and speed that process along or delay it as long as possible? My own view is that, when it comes to Father Christmas, we should do everything in our power to preserve our children’s belief in him.

For one thing, invoking this deity is a very effective way to control their behaviour, particularly as Christmas approaches. You only have to point out that he disapproves of such-and-such a thing — getting down from the table before you’ve finished your supper, for instance — to bring about instant compliance. The thought that he won’t be bringing them the presents they have asked for is enough to put the fear of God into them.

‘But Daddy,’ said Sasha, after I had assured her that Santa did indeed exist and would bring her nothing more than a lump of coal if she did not clean her plate, ‘how will he know if I don’t eat my broccoli?’ I had to be careful here. I did not want to say that I would tell him myself since that would conflict with another lesson I have been trying to teach her, namely, that it is wrong to tell tales.

Then I had a brainwave.

‘You see that little gizmo,’ I said, pointing to the motion detector in the corner of the room that was connected to the burglar alarm.

‘Yes.’ ‘That’s Santa’s CCTV. He’s got this big bank of screens in the North Pole and he sits there, day and night, monitoring every child’s behaviour. Every time the little red light comes on, that means he’s watching you.’ She looked up, eyes wide with astonishment, then immediately started eating her greens. The great thing about ‘Santa’s CCTV’ is that there’s one of these motion detectors in every room of the house.

Unfortunately, by the time I came downstairs the following morning, Sasha had discovered that if you move slowly enough the little red light does not come on. She was in the process of inching her way from the kitchen to the TV room, motion detector. ‘Santa can’t see me.’ ‘He can now,’ I said, waving my arms about frantically. ‘Finish your breakfast.’ After she had returned to the kitchen table, I told her that the little red light being off was no guarantee that Father Christmas wasn’t watching. The light was ‘faulty’, but the CCTV was working perfectly.

At this point, a smile crept over her face. I recognised this expression. It was the look she gets when it finally dawns on her that I have been teasing her about something.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you Daddy?’ ‘No, no, no. I’m deadly serious.’ It was no good. The game was up. She leapt from the table and started jumping up and down: ‘Santa can’t see me, Santa can’t see me.’ At that moment, the phone rang. ‘Hello, Santa, is that you?’ I said, speaking into the phone.

‘No, this is your mother-in-law,’ said the stern voice on the other end.

‘What’s that you say? Sasha’s going to get a lump of coal in her stocking this Christmas?’ ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ said my mother-in-law. Sasha froze, eyes wide with alarm.

‘But Daddy, Daddy —’ ‘What if she promises to be a very good girl and does everything her Daddy tells her?’ I said.

‘Can I please speak to my daughter?’ said my mother-in-law.

‘Thank you Santa,’ I said. ‘That’s very decent of you.’ I covered the receiver and whispered to Sasha that if she returned to the table and finished her porridge, Father Christmas would be prepared to overlook her bad behaviour just this once.

She immediately sat back down and started spooning oats into her mouth.

‘Before you go, Santa, will you just clear something up for me?’ ‘Toby, this has gone on for long enough,’ said my mother-in-law. ‘Kindly put me through to my daughter right this minute.’ ‘When the little red light’s not on, you can still see Sasha, can’t you?’ ‘HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? WHAT THE DEVIL’S GOING ON?’ ‘I thought so,’ I said in triumph — and then replaced the receiver.

Sasha has been as good as gold ever since.