- Nov 13, 2024
- 5 min read
Updated: Nov 24, 2025
Paul Ishwood shares his pet peeves and the more feral ones.
After a galling start to November, my mind has turned to happier activities. It has to; otherwise, I’ll be a whiny, well-dressed mess on the floor. So, although we’re somewhat far from season’s greetings, don’t be fooled - they come at you thick and fast. I thought I’d settle a few points on easing into festive activities and being a gracious recipient.
You may not agree with many or any, but what is life without a lively debate over pointless issues? It’s invigorating to spar over cocktail napkins, lighting, and, of course, my perpetual grievance: canapes.
So, here are my rules for making this season as enjoyable for those around you as it is for you.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve received precisely one invite for the Christmas period thus far. And, I’ll admit, I’ve declined. It falls in the dread week of deadlines when even a mulled wine feels like an obligation. So, I consulted my own Ghost of Christmas Future and, foreseeing a slightly harried, caffeine-powered “Paul” come December, I opted out. It’s not that I don’t want to go, oh, I do. But for the sake of all the Tiny Tims and Timettes who expect presents this year, I must press on with my work.
So here's the note on last-minute cancellations. Yes, I know the drill: colds descend, work piles up, existential dread surfaces, life happens. But let’s remember the brave souls who host, those courageous warriors of conviviality, putting their heart and bank balance on the line. They deserve the same understanding and consideration you’d expect for yourself. So, think ahead, avoid flaking at the eleventh hour, and let’s be kind to the hosts, keeping the festive spirit alive.
If you’re throwing a shindig, do us a favour and set some expectations. What time should it start, and, dare I ask, what time do you plan on winding down? Naturally, if you have no neighbours or have given up on niceties, let the night run wild. But for the rest of us, a bit of forewarning never hurts. Case in point: I was invited to a dinner party with a prompt 7 p.m. start earlier this year. I’m punctual, so I dutifully arrived at 7:10. We didn’t sit down until 8:30. Supper stretched past 10:30, and the subsequent journey across London made it an evening to remember. but not fondly.
Now, let’s address lateness. Shall we agree on a civil window? I suggest a polite 10 to 20 minutes max for personal gatherings. I’m admittedly obsessive about timing, and there’s nothing quite like the deflating sensation of waiting for one's guest to arrive an hour later than the specified time. It’s not just the clock ticking, the goodwill is dwindling.
Then, there’s organisation - the true mark of a seasoned host. Look, if I’ve rushed from work, crossed London, or, as many have to, employed a babysitter, I expect the host to hold up their end of the bargain. That means a cold drink, something to nibble, and a room with a semblance of ambience. You can still be bustling in the kitchen, but it all feels more promising if the guests are watered and slightly fed upon arrival. Once, I met my host in the local supermarket while buying a perfunctory bottle of wine. It didn't bode well for the evening.
Host Gift: While on a languid summer dip this year, a friend and I floated along, discussing that rather slippery subject, generosity. They mentioned a friend known for showing up empty-handed, never a whiff of a gift in sight. I tutted in reflex, but they countered: this person wasn’t exactly rolling in it. Fair enough; financial constraints shape a good deal of my own social life. Yet, even on my leanest days, I’ve managed to bring something along. It’s a purely anecdotal observation, but I’d wager that true generosity rarely depends on the contents of one’s bank account.
In fact, I often find that my friends with the heaviest coffers are the ones who show up empty-handed, their well-heeled minds somehow blank at the thought of a bottle or a bag of walnuts. Meanwhile, those less materially endowed friends invariably arrive with a little something—a wine, a thoughtful snack, a small token that says, “ta very much.”
Now, here lies my kryptonite - the thank-you letter. Perhaps this is where I’m at my most polarising. Watch out, Elon Musk; there’s a new sheriff in town, and he’s absolutely hopeless with the handwritten thank-you note. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t get myself in the game. And yes, I always extend my thanks, but they usually take the far less “chic” form of a text or an email.
My only saving grace? I never expect a letter in return. A text or email will do nicely, thank you very much, but what's this? I do expect one. I grant you, it’s a precarious line to walk—a faintly hypocritical, wobbly one at that. And yet, here I am, quite firmly on it.
And so we come to Christmas cards. Now, God, do I love a Christmas card? I send them out with genuine delight each year, usually to a select, beloved cohort of friends. No, I don’t expect one in return, it’s the act itself I enjoy. Selecting the perfect card with a quality envelope and topping it all off with our sovereign’s head, it’s a ritual as satisfying as the first sloe gin of the season.
When I do receive one, I’m usually thrilled, that is, until I unfold a glossy panorama of families skiing, some smug beach scene in the Seychelles, or perhaps a little show jumping in front of a freshly restored manor. A Christmas card ought to be one of three things: funny, traditional, or simply beautiful. Showing off has no place here, save it for the Instagram, where I can happily mute you.
Gifting is one of the trickiest and most drawn-out Christmas pastimes. It dilutes the narrative of festivity so thoroughly that by the 25th, many of us have stumbled into a capitalist stupor, ready to give just about anything that might pass muster. So, I beg of you, if you feel yourself teetering on that precipice, pull back and remember: there are excellent gifts that suit anyone without costing the earth. A fine pair of socks, a premium bottle of olive oil, or perhaps the finest of all, a donation to charity. Simple, thoughtful, and remarkably stress-free.
Christmas Outfits - just don’t do it. Resist the urge for something sparkly, fluffy, or velvety. I’m certain there’s something in your wardrobe that will get you through a Christmas gathering or two. And if you absolutely must wear a festive jumper, I beg you—go second-hand. The mountain of already-made, once-worn holiday jumpers could likely wrap the world several times over. No need to add another layer.
With all this said, I hope the next few weeks offer up some excellent festivities and hopefully not too many rule
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