24: Direct bribery

C is for c'mon Santa. 

Day 24.

There is a spectre haunting Europe - the spectre of lumpy coal. 

Today is a day for soul searching and piper paying. A day to be weighed in the scales and found wanting.

We have been sort of good some of the time...more or less. Surely that counts for something?

For everything else there's cookies.

21: Elves

Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer. 

Advent day 21. We can hardly wait for Christmas. The elves find our impatience amusing, and pull faces behind our backs.

13: Santa, baby

'Please send spaceship and world domination.' 

Day 13 finds us writing very earnest letters to Santa.

21: Santa imposters

Day 21 in Advent is staring down at Who-ville with a sour Grinchy frown.

...and laying a finger aside of his nose-ring...

There is a local tradition in these parts whereby kids are taken to a creepy, skinny, unbearded, fake Santa Claus in the days preceding Christmas. They queue like trembling lemmings, then sit one by one in Creepy Claus's lap and recant their sins. There is much grovelling, gnashing of teeth and plaintive crying to show contrition.

Parents photograph the whole scene to use as evidence, should the kids later recant their confessions and commence misbehaviour. A key part of this cultural practice is that surrounding grown-ups must say things like 'ah how cute' and categorically refuse to acknowledge that Creepy Claus is clearly a big phony.

If the Grinch could do it, then so could Creepy Dog. 

I hear that our Santa imposters are pretty tame compared to the uber-scary Swiss ones, who travel with evil whip-wielding sidekicks, and pack kidnap bags for the naughty kids (thanks for the info, Sheena). And anyway, according to the eleventy-hundred good parenting manuals I should have read, threats covered in treats-clothing are crucial to the cultivation of good behaviour. You see, after a date with fake Santa, kids will be super-thankful for their Christmas presents and act like angels for months, or until all memory of him has passed (so possibly only a few minutes).

I do my best to respect local custom, so last week my girls went for their annual review with fake Santa. And there we met the jolliest, fattest, beardiest Santa imposter imaginable. I can only assume the agency hired him over the phone, or made an administrative mistake. I waited for him to speak in a scary voice, or pull out some other Scroogey trick, but he remained a kind, grandfatherly type throughout the interrogation.

Wise one that she is, Ali howled like a banshee anyway to indicate that she knew her place in the ritual, and felt genuine remorse for her sins. Ana looked bored, irreverent, borderline half-asleep. But in fairness, not even the Grinch would make Ana nervous. In fact she rather identifies with that guy.

Santa imposter ritual complete, I'm off to stock up on Who-hash and roast beast for the big day.

20: Off the air

Day 20, or C minus five.

Dash away, dash away, dash it all. 

Depending on the whims of ye merry Gatwick gentlemen, Santa may have to travel overland instead of by air. If you listen very carefully like David Attenborough, you may hear a grumbled 'typical, innit' carried on the winds from Lapland.

Britain's children may not receive their presents until March, as Santa will be stuck in the M25 roadworks until at least Valentine's Day. Chin up, the Royal Mail has prepared us for this day.

Current conditions at Heathrow. 

15: Moonshine

Day 15 is hung by the chimney with care.

Bless their little cotton socks. 

Come Christmas Eve and children nestled snugly in their beds, I suggest a little sugar plum vision for the grown-ups. What better way to gather courage for morning's barbaric assault on the Christmas tree? Indeed, what better way to put the sparkle back in Santa's eyes and return the rosy to his cheeks, than to leave him a little of the home-made winter warmer with his plate of cookies?

He works a devil of a long shift after all, out in the cold with no elfin safety legislation to protect him across international airspace, dodging Airbuses, circling Heathrow, spelunking down centuries-old chimneys and smack-dab into coal fires. All this with only a poxy red coat to protect him against the elements. So give a jolly old elf a break. And some plonk.

Welcome Santa, bring your cheer. 

There is of course the classic option: sloe gin. This is ideal if you happen to live by a blackthorn-infested wood and own some heavy gloves. Sloes, very tart on their own, create a delightful, fuchsia drink when drowned in gin and lashings of sugar and left in a dark closet for several months.

Morello cherries, also readily available out in the boonies, create a beautiful deep red tipple, with a nose full of nutmeg and overtones of happiness. Damson plums (above) are nearly as divine for booze as they are for jam. Strawberries, blackberries, rhubarb (kudos to Dawn for this suggestion) and raspberries all drown well. But the best of the lot by far is greengage rum, a golden drink reminiscent of mead. We call it ambrosia in this house, and it is the official Christmas Eve drink.

Ambrosia begins.

Fruity Christmas moonshine couldn't be easier to make. Begin in late summer, as your low-hanging fruit of choice grows ripe. Fill a preserving jar or empty bottle with fruit. Pour sugar over to about a third of the way up. Fill to the top with medium-quality rum, vodka or gin and secure the lid tightly to ward off any space invaders.

The fruit absorbs much of the alcohol, so the resulting drink is more liqueur than liquor. Give it a shake every so often, but mostly leave it alone in the dark until Christmas. Or until a reasonably bad day at least six weeks down the line. Share and enjoy. Remember to leave some for poor Santa, because the guy is subject to the maniacal whims of short people and he doesn't even get a full state pension.

A special toast to Sticky Fingers for suggesting a handful of sparkle to combat the cold, dark days of Christmas anticipation. Cheers.