Resist the urge to purge

James Sherwood

SHOPPING

Dickens had a point in Bleak House when he said of fashion that ‘it is a world wrapped up in too much jeweller’s cotton and fine wool, and cannot hear the rushing of the larger worlds’. Sadly, the roar of the present financial catastrophe is too deafening for even fashion to ignore. And yet when shadow health secretary Andrew Lansley suggested that recession might necessitate a much-needed clearing of the national palette, it struck me that such vocal supporters of self-denial probably thought much the same thing when Savonarola preached his first sermon in 15th-century Florence.

The urge to purge this Christmas is strong but does, however, tend to lose its momentum when it’s one’s own precious vanities that are being tossed on the bonfire. Which brings us appropriately to gifts that neither offend with their profligacy nor shame with their meanness. Economies have to be made but in the most unlikely of places. The three wise men set an unfortunate precedent bringing baby Jesus such inappropriately lavish gifts. One could almost hear Mary tutting, ‘He’ll only play with the box’, as gold, frankincense and myrrh were laid at the infant’s feet. Which dreadful killjoy came up with the theory that Christmas was all about the children; encouraging all adults to forgo booty so the young would not be deprived?

I came to the conclusion that children today are hopelessly spoilt watching a Surrey six-year-old systematically and ruthlessly tearing through a magic mountain of Christmas gifts with the steely-eyed boredom of a baby Barbara Hutton. If the nation’s adults set a £10 budget per child under ten and spent it at Woolworths, we’d not only free up necessary capital for more generous adult gifts but save a Great British Institution in the process.

Not that this is the season to buy one’s wife/mistress/boyfriend a Porsche or a chalet in Aspen. In this recessionary Christmas season, how much one spends takes second place to where it is spent. Also to be taken into account is William Morris’s ‘beautiful and useful’ caveat. In the spirit of Breakfast at Tiffany’s Holly Golightly, there is something ineffably chic about acquiring lower ticket items from grand old houses such as Cartier, Goyard, Charvet or Louis Vuitton. With impeccable timing, Old Bond Street fancy goods house Asprey finds itself in safer hands than previous regimes and well-placed to offer smart but small gifts with wit and vigour.

Sterling silver eggcups (£124) are nominally for christenings but which adult with a yen for soldiers would not adore a monogrammed cup of his own? Similarly, vicious and rather snobbish bridge players in the school of Mapp & Lucia would thrill to play the beautiful game with two decks embossed with Asprey’s elegant autograph (£30 each). For a truly democratic Christmas, simply buy a pack of six Asprey Luxury Christmas crackers (£840) that all contain modest but useful favours such as silver pens, lizardskin tape-measures and essential poker dice. Pickett in the Burlington Arcade is a similarly miraculous box of delights for him, her, the dowager and the dog.

If Maria von Trapp set her sights a tad higher, she’d have listed among her favourite things Tiffany blue boxes tied up with strings (well, white ribbons). A select few houses have packaging so iconic as to render what lies beneath almost irrelevant. Almost. Though this may not be the bonus year to dole out Hermès scarves in their burnt-orange boxes by the dozen, a lady would be positively churlish to wrinkle her nose at a Hermès silk print ‘Twilly’ ribbon (£70) or a shocking pink ‘Carmen’ fringed leather key ring (£110).

Likewise, there isn’t a man in the land who won’t thank you for a classic Hermès white cotton shirt (£175), hand-folded basket weave tie (£135) or silk pocket square (£75). You may recall the scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s when Holly and Paul seek the cheapest item in the Fifth Avenue store (a silver telephone dialler Paul cannot afford) and the sales clerk allows them to engrave a crackerjack box ring. Tiffany may not be quite so magnanimous today, but one may still buy vital but smart sterling silver collar stays (we chaps always lose them) for £40 or Frank Ghery’s sculpted silver ‘Torque’ ring for £90.

Solving a problem of modern life with a Christmas gift is always a winner. We live in an age when carrying a plastic bag invites as much moral opprobrium as cigarettes, chewing gum or Russell Brand. A dashing solution comes from Savile Row tailor Norton & Sons in the shape of the canvas ‘Trotter’ bag. Trotters are the most junior rank on the Row who carry bundles

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and trimmings between the cutting room and the tailors. Nortons’ Trotter sacks have

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become such a hit with his customers (for gym kit/shopping/papers) that they are as

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familiar a sight on the streets of Mayfair as the Middleton sisters.

We all had our credit crunch epiphany in the latter part of 2008. Mine came at Alan ��Yau’s Sake No Hana on St James’s Street when the bill (not, please note, the waiter)

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informed me a glass of house champagne was £30, by which time my guest and I had coiffed a brace each. Paul McCartney must have felt similarly hoodwinked as he left his divorce proceedings. It struck me then how much more smart to ask maestro Alessandro Palazzi to mix a Beefeater gin martini, pre-frozen, at a fireside table in the 100-year old Duke’s Bar instead.

And whereas Sake No Hana’s waiters whisper like Iago in your ear to encourage indulgence, Signor Palazzi will remind you of the ‘no more than two’ house rule. Duke’s offers a marvellous £34 martini-adeux gift voucher that would make for a very merry Christmas. A final shared pleasure is choosing to Christmas shop in the magnificent old firms clustered around St James’s Street, Jermyn Street and Piccadilly.

What could be more pleasing than walking in the footsteps of Wellington, Byron, Brummell and Wilde to acquire a first edition at Hatchards (est. 1797), a new Panama at James Lock (1676), a velvet slipper at John Lobb (1849) or a fine but modest bottle of Malbec at Berry Bros & Rudd (1698). Conversing with the witty and knowledgeable ladies and gentlemen who guard these, the oldest going concerns in London, is quite frankly beyond price.