Sloe, sloe, quick, quick, sloe - gin!

Chestnuts roasting by the fire, Nat King Cole on the stereo, Great Aunt Nellie asleep on the sofa, new noisy toys for the children and the batteries not yet run down, the tree lights already on the blink ....and a little toddy of sloe gin clasped in your desperate hand. A great softener for the claustrophobia of the traditional Christmas. Make it now as your personal insurance and insulation against the cold and the tension! It's so easy.

Above are all the ingredients you'll need. Pick ripe, slightly squeezable sloes in September. 2009 has been a cracking year for them in Wales - they must like rain! If you have 3 lbs of fruit, as here, you will need 1 lb of sugar and about half a bottle of gin. Give the sloes a sluice in cold water and prick them all over. Traditional recipes say use a darning needle but I find a sharp vegetable knife more comfortable because it has a good handle to grip. Pour the fruit into a wide necked jar, add the sugar and pour over the gin. Seal and resist for at least 3 months. Strain off the fruit, savour the aroma and decant into beautiful decanters - if you're richer than me cut crystal would be absolutely ideal and very pretty. Drink in sherry glasses - this is a liqueur - not a wine.

I once gave a dinner party to friends and at the end of the evening two of the blokes accepted my invitation to a little sloe gin as a liqueur to round things off. I put the decanter on the table with two sherry glasses, everyone else having migrated to the log fire in the other room. They looked askance at the tiddly glasses and I gave an altogether too gentle warning of the strength of the purple sweet liquid. "Mmmm, this slips down easily," said one of them, a respectable and usually teetotal doctor. I left them to it and joined in with the lively chatter in the other room. When we all came back some time later, the decanter was virtually empty and beatific smiles emanated from our two male companions, now truly bonded and replete. Alas, when they went to stand up and take their leave, their legs had turned to rubber. I am reliably informed their lives did not exist for a further two days when normal duties could be resumed. The fact that they seem to resent this just made me cross when I looked at the empty decanter. Lesson? Only ever pour guests out one glass and then hide it!