WITH so much talk lately about how far you can go if you come across an intruder in your home, it's not surprising I was a bit twitchy.

I'd rushed home from work, late for a family trip to the theatre just before Christmas, ran up to the bedroom and started to get changed.

It was then - in the half light - that I sensed a shadowy figure in the corner of the room.

My blood froze for a moment and then, instinctively, I braced myself for action, putting my hands up karate-style and looking round for something heavy. I didn't care what they said about tackling burglars - this bloke was in my bedroom and he was going to get it.

I flicked the big light on, muttered "Come on then" under my breath, and there he was - George Clooney. Yes, George Clooney. Well, not in the flesh exactly - a life-sized cardboard cut-out.

"Do you know there's a life-sized cardboard cut-out of George Clooney in our bedroom?" I shouted down the stairs.

"He's lovely isn't he?" came the reply.

It transpired that my wife had seen cardboard George standing in Morrisons, advertising Martini. She'd asked to see the manager and begged him to let her take George home.

Recklessly, the manager agreed, although he said she'd have to wait a week or so until the Martini promotion had finished.

By that time, a woman called Rose Brown, apparently working in the store on the salad bar, had also made a bid but my wife had got in first and the manager was as good as his word.

With a triumphant smile as wide as a shopping aisle, she carried him out of the supermarket on top of her trolley and drove home with him in the passenger seat of her car, oblivious to the strange looks coming from anyone who happened to pull up alongside her.

Since then, George has become a permanent fixture in the house, although not everyone's happy about it.

Max, aged seven, complained that the eyes of "the cardboard man" were following him whenever he came into our bed for a snuggle with his Mum, so she agreed to hide him in the en suite bathroom.

Quite frankly, I found it difficult to sleep - or do anything else - with George overlooking our bed, so she eventually agreed to move him downstairs.

She had him in the kitchen while she was cooking the Sunday lunch and I swear I overheard her asking him whether he thought the potatoes were crispy enough.

And now he's parked in the lounge, leaning against the bookcase - a picture of dark, brooding sex appeal.

Why she needs him when she's got me is, of course, a very good question. As far as I'm concerned he's shallow, one-dimensional and a bit stiff.

She thinks differently. "He's absolutely gorgeous," she says, and all her friends seem to agree.

I'm honest enough to admit that I did start to feel a bit jealous. But I cheered up a bit when one of her friends came round for a coffee and, for a second or two, thought the chap standing by the books was me. I was actually upstairs at the time but I took it as a compliment.

Then, Boxing Day came and we all went to Grandma and Grandad's house to open our presents.

"Yours is upstairs," Grandma told me, after the kids had completed their unwrapping frenzy.

I opened the door of my old bedroom and there she was in all her glory: a splendid, life-sized, lingerie-clad cardboard cut-out of Kylie Minogue.

My mum, God bless her, had made it herself out of a big poster, which she cut out and glued to a cardboard stand used for advertising oven chips in Asda.

"You needn't think we're having that in the house," came a sharp voice from behind me.

My wife, you see, just isn't cut out for competition.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

ON returning from a train journey to York, a pupil from Villa Real School in Consett ran into the classroom and shouted to the teacher: "Miss, Miss, I've been on a Virgin."

"WHEN was Jesus born?" another Villa Real pupil asked.

"A long time ago - why?" said the teacher.

"'Cos I was born in November so I wouldn't have known him," came the reply.

A FELLOW pupil rushed into school one morning, saying: "Miss, my auntie had an accident but it's alright, she's in a stable."

THE THINGS DADS SAY

"I have four beautiful children. They are my finest achievement."

- Frankie Dettori, writing in his newly-published autobiography.