Contrast jumper, Chinti and Parker/ Horn comb, Hornvarefabrikken/ Dream River by Bill Callahan/ 'Ocean's Sweaty Face' 100 McSweeney's Postcards/ The ever-faithful Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce/ Delirium Tremens ale/ Dead Sea conditioner/ Table Tennis Set/
I can't fault gift guides. They're as ubiquitous as mince pies and each December I overdose on both and don't even care. Ah yes, gift guides. I love finding them tucked away in the weekend papers whilst I'm eating my eggs and hot sauce but I like making them even more. They're loaded with all of the pleasure of the Christmas lists we wrote as children* except thinly veiled as an attempt to guide others, because tis the season of goodwill. The season of heartwarming advice like "your Aunty will just love this £300 jumper."
I'm on a pretty tight budget this year and trying to be creative when it comes to handmade gifts that actually mean something. I've spent much of my Saturday night teaching myself 'The Lambton Worm' which is a Northumbrian folk song my Dad used to sing to me when I was younger. He still performs it as his party trick every now and then when he's drunk. My Dad doesn't really like present giving- his response to gifts is a consistently grateful but unbothered so this year I hope to whip this out (after a few glasses of dutch courage) and watch him shed salty tears of joy. Dazzled by his eldest daughter's commitment to learning a tricky Northumbrian dialect all in the name of miserliness. I'll let you know how it goes..
Want to scroll through the sickening amount of gift guides I've compiled in previous years? Here, here, here, here and heere.
*This is my own Christmas list, written around aged 6. Displaying an early and acute awareness of the relationship between wine and bribery.