We are in the grip of Christmas mania, make no mistake about it.
Sir Elton’s schmaltzy advert has been on for so long that the child actor at the end is now shaving.
We’re spending our time mainly queuing up to see Father Christmas with our youngest – we are readying ourselves for the third meeting of the season already.
I am a sucker for the magic of this time of year and you don’t get anything more magical than the look on a pre-schooler’s face when he is confronted by a stranger in a polyester red suit and a fake beard.
Yes, it can be confusing for most children to see the Big Man more than once before December 25, but the joy of having a three-year-old is they are easily convinced, especially if there is a bribe on offer.
Our first grotto visit of the year, which, I am ashamed to say, occurred a week before the start of December, saw our spirited nipper take Lapland’s best known resident to task for not giving him the gift he had asked for a full 60 seconds before.
The small Rudolph toy, thrust into his hands by Mr Claus Mk 1, was promptly launched into the air with all the power of a Russian shot putter.
We are newcomers to the Elf on the Shelf ruse, which is when desperate parents enlist the help of an elf doll, which, every day, adopts a different position to ‘spy’ on already over excited children.
It would work better if I were to remember to help the little blighter move to a different location every night, but keeping on top of the rules of 21st century parenting is pretty befuddling.
Christmas is the best time to be a parent, although there are plenty of obstacles to overcome.
I am only grateful our sceptical nine-year-old hasn’t asked how a no deal Brexit might impede Santa’s freedom of movement in little over a year’s time.