Stuck for Christmas present inspiration this year? I’ve got a list for that. And you can always give a Savour membership, too.

This year my festive spirit crept in by stealth - as if it were Father Christmas. Last year, in hindsight, was more complicated than I either let on or realised at the time (more on that in Hark, the book I’m releasing in the new year but you can pre-order now). But this year has been an exercise in learning how to do things differently, and one of those different things is to try and work as little as possible in December.

Perhaps this is why some whiff of festivity has snuck in among the other ambient stress induced by the entire realm of present acquisition (panicking? Here’s a reliable list), remembering when the toddler has to wear a Christmas jumper and making space for the tree and decorating it and all the other gubbins besides.

I think it is at these times - these pip-squeaking, kettle-whistling times - that savouring matters even more. Forget the matching pyjamas and the trips to Lapland UK, look more closely at the everyday stuff and you’ll realise that there’s something different - and quite lovely, really - afoot. I’ve opened up the comments - you are heartily invited to add your own favourite good small Christmas things.

• Christmas tree smell. No candle comes close.

• See also: the sheer, improbable, fairytale magic of having a pine tree in your house.

• A greater accommodation of cosiness in general. Three jumpers? Sure thing. Two blankets on the sofa? Guaranteed.

• On that note, packing your slippers if you’re not spending Christmas at home.

• Hearing The Waitresses’ ‘Christmas Wrapping’ or ‘Fairytale of New York’ by The Pogues on the radio or waiting in line at Morrisons and letting yourself have a tiny little fantasy about being in The Big Apple at this time of year.

• The acceptance of wearing clothes you’d normally not leave the house / bed in at most hours of the day.

• Bowls of satsumas in rooms beyond the kitchen.

• The toddler always smelling slightly of satsumas.

• Town being all dressed up, especially from mid-December, when it no longer feels offensively early. For a few brief weeks, London looks like something out of a movie.

• Just buying a packet of six mince pies of a grey afternoon because, well, you can.

• Gaudete.

• Pubs smelling like mulled wine.

• Absconding traditional wrapping paper. I’m re-using pages of the LRB this year.

• Sloe gin.

• If it’s been a less-than-ideal year, knowing that this is its last hoorah. You’ve just got to return the hire car in one piece.

• If it’s been a brilliant year, knowing that you get to send it out in style.

• Leaving the fairy lights on and the curtains open and getting to see the tree welcome you home.

• Terry’s Chocolate Orange.

• The middle bit of Terry’s Chocolate Orange.

• Shimmying Christmas cards in between the books on the shelves. Or, if you’re lucky to have enough, hanging them on string.

• Making tiny party hats for the ornaments with faces.

• You won’t get to catch up with everyone before Christmas, but perhaps you’ll see some people you haven’t seen enough of this year, and that, frankly, is its own kind of wonder.

• Singing loudly in public. I tend to opt for carolling or Nine Lessons and Carols, but it’s always fun to watch someone start a sing-a-long on the Tube, too.

• That one decoration that makes no sense seasonally or in terms of taste but nevertheless persists, only gaining a more mythical status with each year it survives.

• That Christmas card from the person you don’t speak to enough.

• Pigs. In. Blankets. Especially cold. Especially dipped in bread sauce.

• Dusting off the ol’ favourite party frocks, and that particular feeling of having cold bare shoulders inside a coat lining.

• Writing a Christmas Card for the postman (Nigel, we love you).

• Having DMCs with children about the Big F.C. (Why don’t the reindeer just get bored and bugger off when he’s down the chimney? How do the elves know the correct serial number for that particular Lego machination?)

• Quietly working out which book you’re going to tuck into over Christmas (this year is a toss-up between Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s Long Island Compromise and Babitz and Didion by Lili Anolik for me. I always want something gossipy and rich and sumptuous. M tends towards some hefty Russian classic.)

• The anticipation of counting down the hours until you can put your Out Of Office on.

After the mania, the quiet that descends. Even in London: the streets empty out, the cafes shut, the parks take on a strangely Dickensian air.

more on christmas

the savour present list

Alice Vincent · Nov 22

These two factors - frenzied organisation and feverish overwhelm - have informed this present list, which is exactly why you should read it. I promise you, these are things people will value and appreciate and thank you for, even those who have everything.

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under the tree

Alice Vincent · December 2, 2023

A gift subscription to savour is one of writing twice a week that encourages you to slow down, to look more closely, to try new things and to think differently. It’s something that will only take up space in an inbox, rather than collect dust on a shelf.

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christmas

Alice Vincent · December 20, 2023

I wasn’t going to write this. There’s a lot of Christmas about, isn’t there, and I’ve struggled to let it in this year. My final office Christmas party was in November, we’ve not bought a tree, I’ve …

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