IT'S started. Can you feel it? Stand very still and you might just be able to detect the vibrations rumbling through your body.

But don't be fooled by its initial subtlety: in four weeks it will feel like a herd of rabid wildebeest is rampaging through your living room.

And when December 25 finally dawns in nine weeks, it will feel like Apollo 13 is revving its engine in the kitchen while Santa's little helpers let off nuclear devices under the Christmas tree.

Round about now children in every house in every city in the country are starting to flex their pester muscles. They are warming up with a whispering campaign (hence the not unpleasant vibrations) before progressing on to a month of whinging, whining and begging, and then going all out when December rolls round with screamed demands, ground shaking tantrums and ransom notes ("pay up or the cats/Postman Pat/grandma gets it").

If you have a child, have ever met a child or have seen pictures of them in natural history books, you will know immediately what I am talking about. Children are the crowned kings, the undefeated world champions, the messy-haired, golden-balled David Beckhams of pestering.

They start quite casually at first. An advert for some super-duper new car with flashing lights and honking horns, obviously designed by some sadistic, parent-hating person at Tomy or Mattel or wherever, comes on in a break during their breakfast dose of saccharine American television, usually involving a camp purple dinosaur singing: "I wuv you, you wuv me; we're a happy family".

As they plough their way through a small mountain of Cheerios (just how many Cheerios is it possible for a three-year-old to shove in their mouth at once?), your little one turns to you and says quietly and calmly: "I bet Daddy would love a car like that for Christmas."

It doesn't matter that it is still only October or that Daddy probably would love a car like that - especially if it came complete with a driver with swivel eyes and his own Swiss army knife. The fact remains that you now know the annual Christmas pester power championships have officially begun. And you also know that, like last year, the year before and the year before that, you don't stand a chance.

Parentline Plus, a free confidential helpline, on 0808 800 2222, for parents concerned about the cost of Christmas, says we should sit down with our children and explain what value for money is and what we can actually afford. Unfortunately this tactic does not work on three-year-olds who a) think an apple and a four-bedroom family home both cost about £20; b) have the memory of a senile goldfish and will forget everything you tell them within seconds; and c) never listen to a single word you say anyway.

I have tried to explain to the Munchkin why spending £49.99 on a plastic baby that looks like Chucky's less attractive little brother and can wee at will is not a great idea, not least because his granddad would have an enormous coronary if he ever saw his footie-loving grandson playing with a doll. But by the time I have finished he has usually drifted off into another room to torture the cats or to attend to some other equally harmless childhood pastime.

Instead I have found a more effective tactic is to simply say "maybe" or "we'll see" whenever the little 'un asks if he can have a Barbie camper van or a Dr Death stun gun. He won't get either of them, but when Christmas rolls around he will have forgotten that he wanted them in the first place.

Last year the Munchkin got all manner of battery-operated doo-hickeys with more flashing lights and sound effects than NASA could shake a hi-tech, laser-topped stick at. And what did he spend the entire day playing with? A bag of wooden skittles.

Kids eh? Can't live with 'em... can't move without the NSPCC tracking you down.

Updated: 08:27 Tuesday, October 22, 2002