TONIGHT, just like I have for the past 20 years or so, I’ll don my red suit, black wellies and white beard, throw my sack over my shoulder, and go on a Christmas Eve tour of friends’ houses, playing Santa Claus for their children.

It takes military-style planning. I have to ask their parents to send me details of their present list and I’ve written them all down in my “magic Santa book” so I can sound knowledgeable when the little ones appear before me.

I love it…but who’s fooling who?

According to research published last week, a third of British children stop believing in Father Christmas by the age of six, but they keep playing along for two main reasons: 1) They don’t want to upset their parents and 2) They’re worried they might miss out on presents if they don’t believe.

It all adds up to one of the hardest decisions parents have to make – when to reveal the truth about Santa.

I read last week that one ten-year-old girl in Maryland, America, was so furious with her parents when they sat her down to break the news that she wrote them a letter which has gone viral on social media.

“You have no idea what you just did. I really tried to believe. Everyone told me it is just your parents. I can’t believe you anymore,” wrote Belle Adams.

She then went on to question what else might be a lie: “Is the Easter bunny real? How about the tooth fairy, huh? You’ve just ruined a ten-year-old child’s life. Nothing will make me feel better. You lied to me about something I loved. That broke my heart.”

Pretty powerful stuff but I’m sure she’ll get over it. My own “little girl” is 23 now and she came home from London on Tuesday night with strict instructions.

“Will you be able to meet me at the train station, Dad, and can you make it nice and Christmassy,” she wrote in a Facebook message. “Is it OK if we have Christmas songs on in the car.”

So, there I was at 9pm on Tuesday, all excited and wearing my Santa hat as I waited on Platform One at Darlington station.

And inspired by taking my 84-year-old mum to see Andre Rieu in concert in Newcastle the other night, I downloaded his Christmas hits onto my iPod to play in the car.

The finishing touch was some fake snow sprinkled round the car.

By the time we’d reached the house, we’d gone through Sleigh Ride and Jingle Bells but Chestnuts Roasting By An Open Fire was still halfway through.

“Go round the block til it’s finished, Dad,” she said.

They’re never too old to enjoy the magic.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THANK you to Kirsten Allen, a teacher at New Markse Primary School, for passing on the story about her Year Three class studying World War Two.

The children were instructed to write a story about being an evacuee and Miss Allen asked what would be a good old-fashioned name for a host aunt.

One hand went up particularly enthusiastically. “Antibacterial!” came the answer.

THANKS also to mum Louise Hunter, of Gosforth, Newcastle, for explaining how she’d spent most of December wondering about the role of the “incubator” in her five-year-old son Thomas’s re-telling of the nativity story.

It turned out that he meant the “inn-keeper”.

MY old colleague Beezy Marsh, originally from Hartlepool, got in touch to tell me how her children had been overheard getting into the Christmas spirit by singing: “O come all ye faithful, trifle and giumphant!”

She was also asked “Who’s The Angel Singh?” As in “Hark The Herald”…

DARLINGTON children’s entertainer, Brian Llewellyn, walked into a party on Saturday night, in the role of Santa: coat, wig, beard, gloves, boots, hood – the works.

The first child shouted: “Hello, Grandad.”

“It sort of killed the moment,” said Brian.

AND Sue Campbell, of Gainford, was in a supermarket queue behind an excitable four-year-old who treated shoppers to a clear, trilling rendition of: “Good King Wendy and his lass.”

Merry Christmas everyone!