Tell anyone outside the UK that a mince pie has no minced meat in it and they give you the same quizzical look that is forthcoming when you refer to the town of Cholmonderley as Chumly. Chumly is also the word for one of those moments of crumbly silence when you and a friend have first bitten into a mince pie, and it is of the finest quality.

There was a review of Industrial Mince Pies ( those baked in a factory rather than the home-made Farmer’s Market types ) in the Guardian before Christmas. It’s a job I aspire to, so I did a bit of training. Top of the pops was a pie from Mr Kipling, which I found hard to believe at the time, but on sampling it was indeed a fine industrial pie. Shortcrust pastry was crumbly but held its shape, and the pie was deep and meaningful. Dried fruits and citrus of the mincemeat seemed to hold their shape, and it was juicy without being sickly sweet, a common fault of its cousins. I’d bought them from a Homesaver branch, which seemed to be the only shop in the area to stock them; they had stacks of boxes almost five feet high. When I returned a few days later, Guardian readers had invaded this Sun readers’ shop and there was not a box in sight.

The clever thing to do, or so I thought, was to wait till after Christmas. But then my daughter and family bought me some from Fortnum and Mason. This is so far off the scale of poshness that they have yet to be sampled.

I did buy a box of Vegan Mince Pies in an attempt to curry favour with the other half, but both of us were unimpressed by the flaccid offering and a layer of mince that was reduced to a sort of goo. Not even worth splashing out 99p for the six.

Trying to impress her, I resorted to the top-of-the-range Asda leftover mince pie that had nuts instead of pastry on the top. She’s hard to impress, and in this case I don’t blame her.

Daughter was tempted to get some quite middle-class versions from M and S, which had brandy butter on top of the mince. I suppose that if you warmed them, this heart attack mix would seep. Not a good idea. Sweet was too small a word for them; you could hear the ticking calories dancing and the arteries trying to make sense of it all. The lesson for M and S is that one should not mess with the mince. It’s a failing that M and S is prone to, all that adding of brandy to just about anything at Christmas time. In some cases, they claim it is added, but one suspects that the factory foreman just sprayed a fine mist of the stuff over the conveyor belt as they left for packing.

The best of the lot? Mr Kipling.

For the New Year, here is my first finished ( well, almost finished painting of a buttercup field in Apperley, just outside Gloucester, on a brilliant Summer day. Loads more to come, and yes, there will be sheds.

I wish you all sunshine and decent pies in 2026.