Picture this. Sunday morning couple going into town in the freezing fog and both a bit grumpy.

We’d forgotten that the Christmas Market was on and all roads into town were blocked. So we ended up at a garage buying bread, milk, cat treats and kindling. Having driven past a dismal light display – three trees covered in fairy lights.

At the counter stood a display of bottles of mulled wine. £3 each.

He went all dreamy. “Do you remember when….?”

Yup. I knew exactly when the when was. The week before Christmas. Paris. Walking the ChampsÉlysées and it’s famous Christmas Market. Drinking mulled wine because it was fffff-freezing cold. A gorgeous, surreal, happy time.

OK. I’m not a fan of mulled wine. Red wine gives me migraine. And cinnamon – m’eh.

But I make it every year on the Rayburn just for those wonderful smells of Christmas. Nutmeg. Orange. Lemon. Clove.

Yay. I can do it this year too. And blame the burnt pigs in blankets and lumpy gravy on the wine fumes :o)