THE neighbours have done it again. They have put up their Christmas lights without consulting us and have caused no end of trouble.

Husband returns home to find their lights twinkling and wife and children scowling. “Our house looks rubbish,” declares daughter.

Lovely neighbours redeem themselves by asking us in for mince pies and chocolate puddings. Children decide that they would like to live next door, at least until Christmas and chocolate arrive at our house.

As the only one able to get into the loft (ladders and small spaces are not a good combination for me) husband has the ultimate power over when Christmas can really get going in our house.

However being called the Grinch by his own children softens his resolve and the Christmas box magically appears in the kitchen.

Before giving ourselves over to the big event we take a trip to the new library.

It is hard to find fault with this much improved service although typically my children are more impressed with the lift than anything else. And that is when the fun begins.

While I check out books and husband looks at films, children disappear to explore.

After a ten minute interval it is time to leave and the search begins for the children. The voices are faint but unmistakable. “Help we’re stuck in the lift,” they shout.

The lift has stopped midway between floors and the helpful and rather embarrassed librarians are unable to open the doors.

Children remain calm but after 20 minutes I can hear an edge of panic in their voices and the time has come to get things moving.

Four firemen arrive and do what they do best - look really good in their uniforms and rescue small children from tight spaces.

Excitement over for one day. I reflect that I could be persuaded to climb into the loft to retrieve the Christmas decorations next year. Well, there’s always the chance of a rescue if I get stuck!