I'm in Thurnham, in Kent, and I'm standing next to a converted barn eating an apple. To my left, a turkey is staring at me and gobbling. Behind me, there's a large field of peonies and scented roses. The scene is so bucolic that as I finish my apple I throw the core into my glove compartment rather than make a mess. Plenty of time to make a mess later, I think. Mind you, I'm here to take a silver jewellery course.

This Art of Mine is a family affair. It's run by mother and daughter Kate and Gemma Blacker. Gemma, the younger Blacker, did a course in anthropology and tried a stint as a management consultant. Kate used to be a maths teacher, then hit 50, thought "Blow this", and went back to university where she took a course in horticultural medicine. Both of them decided to change their lives and so here we are upstairs in the workshop where they offer courses in everything from jewellery and ceramics to Christmas specials such as candle decorating and wreath-making. I hope to spend a weekend making cheap Christmas presents.

"It might be best," says Kate, as I take my seat around a large table laid out with mats and equipment, "if you try something easy. Like a flat pendant."

I stare back at her. "What's the hardest thing to do?" I ask.
"A ring."

"I'll do that."

She frowns slightly and smiles. "It'll be quite challenging," she advises. "But you're very welcome to have a go. The key to a good ring is to make the perfect sausage."

The jewellery has to be fashioned from specialist silver clay that, when unwrapped, looks like a strip of chewing gum. It was invented by the Japanese. "The people at Mitsubishi," explains Kate. You have to work quickly with it as it dries and crumbles so we spend the first couple of hours practising our designs in Plasticine.

I've decided to set a stone into the centre of my ring and layer the area around it with stars. I've wrapped my rolled-out sausage round a tool called a mandrel and I've been given a tiny star cutter by Kate. All I have to do is press it into the Plasticine and then push the shape out. Kate even shows me how to do it.

"Oh," I say, as I press the cutter down and the whole thing disintegrates in my hand. "I've broken it. Sorry."

"Don't worry," says Kate, trying to reassemble the shattered pieces to no avail. "We get kids breaking things all the time."

She leans in and whispers in my ear: "And you've put your stone in upside down."

I stare down at my practice ring. It is rubbish. To my left sits Liz. She's made a very impressive upturned leaf with tendrils. It looks amazing. Next to me, Sheona is making a layered, star-shaped brooch. She hasn't broken one single thing. Opposite me is Tracey. She's also making a ring, but unlike me, she's not stupid.

Gemma has cast a glance over Tracey's mandrel. "I think," she says, staring at the sausagey mess before her, "you might want to move to plan B."

"Have you got a plan B?" I ask Tracey.

"Gemma is plan B," answers Tracey, quick as a flash.

I narrow my eyes and quiz her. "Tracey," I ask, pursing my lips. "Are you going to get Gemma to make the whole thing?"

Tracey glances at me and grins. "An artist knows her limitations," she quips. I like Tracey.

When we're finally allowed to unwrap the clay, it's unimaginably tense. All chat ceases and everyone around the table has their heads down trying to replicate their Plasticine designs as quickly as possible. My ring looks as if it might have been made by a drunk orc. I don't hold out great hopes for it. Kate's already warned me it might not "make it through the firing process". I'm incredibly anxious.

Our pieces are fired in a kiln for 15 minutes. They come out chalky white, and once they've cooled we get to brush them and buff them with agate. Suddenly, before our eyes, the chalk turns to bright silver. It's like magic. My ring has come out wonky looking and rough-edged, but it's in one piece and after filing and polishing, dare I say it, it's not half bad.

"How many out of 10 would you give me for that?" I ask Gemma, popping it on my finger and holding it up.

"Nine out of 10," she grins. "You've done really well."

I'm not going to lie. I feel bloody thrilled. I've made a ring. It's more Stig of the Dump than Hatton Garden but I don't care. It's mine.

• Little Budds Farm, Coldblow Lane, Thurnham, Maidstone (01622 735312, thisartofmine.co.uk). The Silver Clay Jewellery workshop costs £65 for four hours, including a light lunch, and the next one is on 21 January 2012. Christmas courses include soap making (7, 11 December), wreaths (14 December), candle decorating (15 December) and fireplace swags (21 December)

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