My six-year-old niece came over yesterday to help fix the water tank in my loft. Her help mainly consisted of watching 'The Rescuers' on video, and asking me to play with her when I'm halfway up a stepladder, but even so, it was invaluable. She was quite disappointed by the lack of Actimel yoghurt drinks in my fridge though, as apparently she really likes those.

Fortunately though, while my Dad was crawling about in the roof-space trying to mend a broken pipe with half a house brick and some ladies gloves, I took some time out to discuss the British Board of Film Classification with my niece. Having gone through my video collection and asked if she could watch 'A Nightmare on Elm Street', I pointed out the '18' rating, and explained what it meant. She then set about looking for a video marked '6', failed, and decided to find out if she could come back a few years down the line instead and borrow my entire Freddy Krueger collection. The conversation went along these lines:

Niece: Will you still be alive when I'm 18?

Me: Yes, I hope so.

Niece: REALLY??? I thought you'd be dead!

So it's reassuring to know I'm not expected to last another 12 years. I should start saving for a coffin.