Right, it's Christmas eve, all is silent. A beautiful woman sleeps soundly beside you (fcuk knows where your wife is - she had a works do tonight), your dog is curled up at the bottom of your bed and your kids are dreaming about the wonders of the day to come. Suddenly you hear a crash, you're aware of the hundreds of quids worth of pressies currently in the house. Hund bares his teeth and utters a guttoral growl - he knows the brown stuff is on route to the spinny thing. You reach for the glock in the bedside drawer and snurgle along the landing to your youngest's room. Hard entrance in and some fat old bloke in what looks like a red tracksuit is standing over young Bethany, aged 5 and still trusts that daddy will look after her. The possibly hostile paedo das something in his hand. Is he an Xray? Do you really believe in father christmas? Do you trust your aim? Pop quiz arrseholes, what do you do? What do you do?