The mulberry gin is made. During the week we took a cheapo day trip to France for gin at Euros7 for 1.5 litres. As ever, finding a recipe was the difficult bit. The mulberries have been sitting patiently in the fridge since I picked them from our tree in August; so full of rich juice that they don’t seem to freeze exactly, more turn to frosted rubies in their bags.

Last time I made it I found a recipe for sloe gin on the net, and adapted it by reducing the sugar – reasoning that mulberries are a whole lot sweeter than sloes.

This time I found a recipe someone had posted for raspberry gin. That recommended using equal weights of fruit and sugar – a pound of each to every bottle of gin. That seemed to me to be two sweet by far, so I’ve halved the sugar. I mixed four bottles of gin with four pounds of fruit and two pounds of sugar, which filled a gallon demijohn perfectly.

So now the demijohn of soon-to-be mulberry gin sits on the piano. Last night, freshly made, there was a layer of undisolved sugar like a sandy sea-bed, but this morning its down from an inch thick to a centimetre, so things seem to be working.

The trip to France was so painless we kept asking ourselves why we don’t do this four times a year. First thing in the morning the Eurotunnel terminal was deserted. We stuck a credit card in the slot of an unmanned kiosk and we were through – no passport checks, no customs, just straight on to a train and away in about three minutes.

What a good job we weren’t terrorists. There were checks on the way back, so maybe the passage of undesirables is one-way only.

The thing about France is that even the bog-standard supermarket we ambled down to on the outskirts of Boulogne was head and shoulders above anything in Britain. And just about everything is at least a third cheaper than here – wine half the price or less. So why is Tesco so smug? A Leclerq or an Auchan would clean up in London.

Everything looks so much nicer too – fantastic displays of fish and great bags of mussels and king prawns. The miles of cheese you expect, but even the ordinary veg looks lovely. Leeks cleaned and tied in red ribbon then wrapped in cellophane. The nets of garlic give you 10 bulbs for little more than £1, and they can be £1 each in London.

As we had so much I’ve planted the cloves from three bulbs in the garden. I gave up on garlic last year because it just didn’t grow terribly well, but I’m giving it one last try. If you can grow it, it’s wonderful: fresher and stronger tasting than the shop-bought stuff, and it lasts for months without sprouting. I’ve just had to throw away bulbs bought in Waitrose only a couple of weeks ago.

Watch out UK supermarkets, you aren’t nearly as good as you think you are.

The freezer came into its own in another way this week. The garden tomatoes – wonderful sweet Lilliput that we had a glut of throughout August and September – also have a shelf to themselves, and I thought it was about time we used some incase they deteriorate. So a big bag went into a ratatouille, together with red peppers and aubergines from our France trip.

Bearing in mind I just froze them whole – no blanching, no peeling or turning to passata - I wasn’t sure how they’d taste. Infact they were as sweet and sharp and fresh as if they had just been picked.

The other great thing about France is you can turn up, as we did, in the old city of Boulogne – or indeed anywhere else – wander around and find a simple, cheap restaurant full of locals and get a four course lunch for Euros15.

It was Toussaint, All Saints Day, and as the city’s cathedral was across the road we went in after lunch and lit a candle.

And we are still feasting on the food we brought back. Last night we had Toulouse sausage with the ratatouille, the night before moule frit, today it’ll be pasta carbonnara with some of the ham and cheese. And then, maybe a prawn frittata tomorrow, or a casserole with some of the other sausage and a salami.

And still the mulberry gin to look forward to. It’ll be drunk at Christmas – and so will I.