IT IS THAT scary time of year. Forget the ghosts and witches of Halloween, I am referring to that really frightening event – the allotment inspection.

I take no comfort from the fact that we have avoided being shown the red or yellow card for the previous five years. Rest on your laurels or your sweetcorn in this game and you can find that the inspector’s equivalent of the ‘Dear John’ letter is in the post.

My sleep is disturbed as I lie awake at night fretting about my unruly plot.

Husband is not feeling the strain and tells me that his part of the plot is ready for any inspection.

"If we get a letter I’ll consider asking for my section to be separately assessed," he says.

So much for loyalty – the breakaway has begun.

Away from the plot, Halloween and bonfire night are now very firmly in the past. Exciting as these festivals are I know that they are merely a diversion from the main event for my children.

I can almost see the relief on their faces when they are over. "Right then,"

they seem to be saying "now we can get on with the serious business of Christmas."

But first there is the thorny issue of whether or not to believe that a rotund man in a big red suit actually comes down the chimney and delivers presents.

Overhear son talking to a friend from school. "You know it’s not Father Christmas who puts presents in your room," son says with some authority.

"It’s your mum or dad."

But a few days later my son quizzes me about the new woodburner, concerned about how Father Christmas will get past it this year, armed as he will be with sack loads of presents.

So what happened to the "mum and dad" theory?

Conclude that while seven year old son may appear world weary in the playground, taking Father Christmas, tooth fairies and the like with a pinch of salt, at home he still believes - his secret is safe with me.