No, I can’t believe it either. But I’m writing this with Santa-shaped praline chocs on my desk, so it must be time. After putting together a guide for ‘people who don’t do stuff' in 2023, I was grateful to hear from a lot of readers who are kindred spirits in practical gift-giving. People who, like me, approach this season with some weariness about the need to shop, and hesitation about exchanging presents that aren’t useful to the recipients. In compiling an encore list for this year, I’ve tried again to focus on things that feel like luxuries because the quality is high—whether it’s an upgrade for a workaday object, or a memorable experience. I hope you find something on it for yourself, or for the gift-shy person in your life.
Le Tricoteur has been knitting these hard-working jumpers on the island of Guernsey since the 1960s. The use of worsted British wool makes guernseys unusually durable—originally, they were intended for fishmen—so they stand up well to wet weather and getting stretched out of shape. The traditional cut is unisex; I have a striped guernsey from Le Tricoteur that my husband and I pass back and forth. However, my favourite style is the relatively new off-shoulder cropped guernsey, which has a boxier shape and was developed with women in mind. There is a mail-in mending service in operation for all Le Tricoteur products.
Seed drops from Alma Proust, an artisanal grower based in West Sussex run by Milli Proust and Paris Alma, are a set-the-alarm thing. And the next release will be in mid-November, in time for the holidays. This seed collection, which can be sown in the spring, produces a frothy, colourful, countrified garden: Cosmos and Poppies, Sweet Peas and Snapdragons, among others. The flowers were chosen to complement each other while growing, and also when clipped for a jug.
This sturdy, beautifully-shaped rattan tray from Hastshilp (a small company that specialises in rattan, and offers everything from side tables to dog beds to light fixtures) lives on a table in our sitting room, permanently stacked with paperbacks and the untouched embroidery kit that I thought would make a cosy project last January. It’s big enough to ferry food and crockery to an outdoor table, and good-looking enough to sit out all year.
When we order a takeaway after the kids are asleep (often), these are the plates that we use. You may not think that having special takeaway plates would improve your life, but hear me out. They are really bowl-plates: large, with high walls, so you can load them up with rice, dahl, curry, chutney, saag paneer, and on and on, then settle onto the sofa for Rivals. The size means that you can fit all of your grub at once, and the shape keeps anything from spilling.
These animal-shaped chocolates (there are lots of different kinds: owls, ladybirds, frogs, etc) come packaged in bright, pretend matchboxes, and are cheerful stocking stuffers. We’ll buy different boxes for everyone in the family, and then swap creatures (the hedgehogs have sprinkles and the most clout).
Last year, as a gift to myself, we wrapped all of the presents in a few different prints from the Kensington Paperie: red, green, and yellow marble papers, folksy stripes, and chintz-inspired florals. The quality of the wrapping paper, printed in London, was unlike anything I’d used before, and now I’m hooked. The paper is durable enough for reuse if carefully unwrapped, and every print is recyclable. They also offer kits, which include silk ribbons and watercolour adhesive labels to complement each pattern.
Billy Tannery takes British goat and deer skins that would have been wasted by-products of the food industry, tans them in the UK, and makes them into useful leather products. Last summer I started using this backpack to carry a laptop and other sundries, usually from desk to café to desk. It’s generously sized and eye-catching—I’ve never had so many introverted freelancers stop to strike up a conversation—and aging beautifully despite careless treatment. The zipped closure and heavy-duty straps make it useful for travelling (I wore it all around France in July and August) and I think it would make a handsome day-pack for hiking too.
I am not a scented candle person. In the normal course of things, it would not occur to me to buy one. This refillable candle, handmade in the Cotswolds by Jesse D’Ambrosi, is the exception: the scent is a warming, shoulder-loosening jumble of bay, oranges, and allspice. It makes me think of winter greenery and gingerbread, but is not cloying. Our house will have one burning from November to February. You can buy the candles online, but Jesse and her husband, Andrew, also own a speciality foods shop, D’Ambrosi, in Stow-On-The-Wold, where you can go to have a sniff in person (and pick up a perfectly roasted chicken plus sides at the same time).
I prefer putting flowers in jugs to vases; they’re easier to move around and multifunctional. Sharland England, a traditional, nostalgic-leaning interiors company run by the designer and broadcaster Louise Roe, makes several timeless ceramic jugs, and my favourite is the handmade Marbre Jug, which looks as striking by the bath as it does on a picnic table. Plus, you can stick it in the dishwasher between bouquets. And if you’d like more of the same design, there’s an entire crockery set that matches.
My husband and I went to stay at Estelle Manor in Oxfordshire this autumn, home to the much-written-about Eynsham Baths: a convivial, two-stories-high, Mount Olympus-style bathhouse on the grounds of the estate. Unlike a spa, the bathhouse is relaxed and chatty, full of people lounging in warm pools. I’m pregnant and couldn’t go in, though I had a glimpse of the neoclassical interiors before slumping off to the tea room. Andrew returned eons later, looking youthful and hale, having plunged and saunaed and ice bathed and meditated and plunged again. You need to be staying at the hotel to buy a day pass (or be a member of Estelle Manor—for members, use of the bathhouse is free), so next year we’re going to go back, and I’ll plunge until I prune.
When I was growing up, my mother made Seasonal Wreaths throughout the year, a habit I admired and appreciated and have not yet cultivated myself (one day, when I finish the embroidery kit). Until then, Wild at Heart makes the kind of vibrant, fresh wreaths that encourage strangers to knock on your door, wanting to know where you got it. The wreath we have up right now (an autumnal, pre-holiday one) is woven with dried oranges, chilli peppers, and hydrangeas.
Around the holidays, when (theoretically) more guests are stopping by, I’ll sidle over to the pantry display at Ottolenghi, a section of the store that I normally try not to make eye contact with. It’s replete with casual, marvellous, grown-up snacks like herb-speckled grissini, jars of green chilli shatta (swirl it through hummus), and cheddar and pistachio biscuits, which strongly suggest a side-along glass of fizz, and the scent of dinner on the go. There are bricks of nut-studded nougat, perfect for slicing up as an end-of-the-party sweetener. So far we’ve hardly had anyone over, but I’ve finished a jar of rosemary nuts whilst writing this list.
Slightly Foxed is a quarterly magazine for people who love books. The concept is simple: every issue (heavy paper, modest trim size, collectible) is made up of essays about books that the writers have deeply enjoyed, often highlighting authors who aren’t widely known. The writers of the essays range from famous novelists to people with no professional literary background to speak of. What they have in common is page-turning prose, and appreciation for the rewards that can come from reading a good book. I’ve been reading Slightly Foxed for over a decade. I can’t think of a more joyful gift for a book lover.
When I am idle, I like to look at the various organisational apparatuses produced by homeware companies, and imagine how these would change my life. Systems of seagrass boxes with slots for hand-written labels; containers for spices that suggest decanting a hurly-burly collection into serene uniformity; smart covered tubs meant to transform an attic into a helpful storage space rather than a fire hazard. My top website for this type of soothing is Neptune, and my top objects are baskets, which are mostly used to hide Lego. Three of the baskets above are arranged by the door of our sitting room, and are particularly tough and pleasing to look at. Some people have yoga; I have this.
