OH for the days when the Easter Bank Holiday was a wonderful four day weekend when the most exercise required was the stretch for another egg to unwrap.

This year has has been slightly more hectic as we’ve had a house-guest in the shape of the housemate’s 14 year old granddaughter who has spent the past ten days with us while her father and brother headed to France for a snowboarding break.

“Why didn’t you want to go with them?” I asked as we met at Ross to pick her up.

“Because it’s cold and there’s snow and they just go up and down mountains,” she replied. “When I go on holiday I want to sit in the sun around a pool,” she added as her grandmother nodded in agreement.

While it’s always fun having her around it is something of a double edged sword as she is by and large a mini version of her grandmother, which means I’m totally outnumbered…except in one area where we’ve found an interesting shared interest. It seems we both love horror films.

I love nothing better on a rainy Sunday afternoon than to find a scary film and settle down with a cushion in front of my face, while the housemate rolls her eyes and resorts to doing her jigsaw.

I do however have a strict rule - no horror films after the hours of darkness and it was this rule which our houseguest was determined to push to its limit.

With Easter Sunday lunch now firmly back in my hands after my sister was forced to relinquish it we had the family around on the weekend for lunch and it was when they had all departed that my weakness was exploited.

While the housemate and I sat exhausted on the sofa, unable to eat another mouthful and thinking only of heading to bed, her granddaughter, cheerfully tucking into a bowl of pasta, announced it was far too early for sleep and that we should relax with a film.

“I know you won’t see much of it,” she said to the housemate.”You’ll be asleep in about ten minutes but we can watch something,” she said looking at me.

“Go on then, you can pick the film,” I said, suitable mellowed by the leisurely lunch and a few glasses of wine.”

“Great. We’ll have this one,” she replied clicking on the most terrifying looking movie in the lineup.

“But it’s 9 o’clock. You know I don’t watch horror films at night,” I said.

“You said she could chose,” chipped in the housemate. “Rookie error,” she added with a smug grin.

Two hours later as the final titles rolled I stared bleakly at the TV feeling like a wrung out dishcloth.

“That was good,” said the 14 year old as we headed upstairs. “I really liked the bit where the demon dropped through the ceiling and you screamed like a baby!”

“I hope you won’t wake up in the middle of the night and find that spooky doll Nanna keeps in the corner staring at you,” she added as she closed her bedroom door with a grin.