The Sweepers are among the last to arrive and are the surest sign that it's time to leave. All cheekbones, lipstick and hollow eyes, they take up positions vacated by successful younger Chickens. They watch us, and wait. Gentlemen - are we old? They don't mind. Are we ugly? Good. Are we fat, shabby and ill-shaven? Better still. Are we all of these things, and drunk besides? Champion - we will be swept up within minutes. Or, are we so drunk that even the Sweepers have become lovely to our eyes? Gentlemen - we are lost, wallet and soul.
Meanwhile, we should be adding the sugar to the cranberry juice, stirring it till dissolved, then pouring it all into our bubbling must. The job's done now, apart from waiting, and topping up with water when it calms down, usually after two weeks.