No-one likes a liar, especially when he or she holds a position of trust. The path of history is littered with Pinocchial examples: Bill Clinton, Jeffrey Archer, Richard Nixon, Baron Munchhausen. Like chewing gum on a pavement, the lies they tell stick like glue, look unsightly and are almost impossible to remove.

Yet every year parents around the globe join the hall of shame by lying their morals off about some big fat bloke in a red suit popping down the chimney to deliver a stash of booty. There is no higher rank of trust than a parent, yet every Christmas we change the rules of right and wrong in order to deliver this lie with absolute conviction. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman, just ask Santa”.

Now I am a mother I have the arduous task of deciding whether to betray my children’s trust, or stick to my ‘give them the facts and let them decide’ principle. Do I conform for the sake of my children, or do I rob them of their childhood innocence? Would it do them more harm than good to know from the start that Santa is as real as moon cheese, or will they one day thank me for showing them the righteous way?

I was all for defending my principles and gambling with my children’s happiness. After all, I thought, what’s the point in having principles if you’re not going to uphold them? Like my stance on violence, my plan was to explain that people have conflicting views, and it’s my children’s job to decide what they believe. But the problem with clinging to principles is that you’re not receptive to the point of view of others, and that would be yet another mixed message I would be giving my children. How can I ask them to make their own decisions If I am not willing to listen to the views of others myself?

The simple answer is, I can’t. So when my friend set down a convincing argument for perpetuating the lie, I had to concede defeat. Aside from the dishonesty, there is only one other argument that substantiates my original principle: Santa teaches children that presents appear out of the blue, with every last trace of parents’ sweat and toil wiped clean away by the elves. Let’s face it, whether Santa exists or not, it’s going to be some time before I manage to convince them that money doesn’t grow on trees.

As my friends face turned to horror at the sheer mention of the subject, she said, “By telling them the truth you’ll be taking away their imagination, and that is one of the only things that is real to them.” How can I argue with that? So for this year and as long as I can get away with, I’ll be lying my Christmas stockings off, and for everything else I’ll tell them the truth – except perhaps about the tooth fairy.

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