Or how to make sure Father Christmas can get into your house if you don’t have a chimney.

In our slightly nomadic past, which ended abruptly almost 5 years ago when we bought this house, we always managed to rent houses with chimneys, making it nice and easy for the great man to access the establishment for the servicing of stockings (I think it best not to tell you that Amelie prefers to wear pyjamas on Christmas Eve in case Santa checks her bottom to make sure it is clean )

Since moving to our lovely but middle range, modern matchbox, we no longer have chimneys. I maintain, and I’m convinced I’m right, this is of no importance and that the skylight above their rooms is almost certainly quite enough for him to use the required magic to make it in.

Apparently Maddy thinks not.

There you go Santa. No problem now.