Marc Renard

I start thinking about Advent in August. In our house, it’s more precious than Christmas itself and the tradition has evolved so elaborately that we now have morning and evening calendars, such is the drive to outdo each other in the micro-gifting stakes. When you have young children who constantly ask if it’s almost Christmas, Advent isn’t just a month of mini treats – it’s a necessary daily lure that helps keep you sane until Christmas. December 24 (date when all bets are open).

I was never allowed to have a chocolate Advent calendar growing up, my mother insisted on the paper variety (now fashionable again). At eight years old I would have preferred sugar to tasteful drawings of Victorian blackbirds, and throughout my childhood I resented being the only kid in class who hadn’t started the day with a Cadbury glass. Which could excuse my tendency to excess these days. And while luxury Advent calendars are fabulously decadent and increasingly exquisite objects, my preference is to arrange them myself. Perhaps because I love themes and collections, the idea of ​​putting together twenty-four little things each year, for each person, brings me great joy in planning and making.

It was really my boyfriend who started this tradition, having grown up with a cardboard box that became a lucky charm in December, filled with random and chaotic objects – light bulbs for the garden, pencils, a blowtorch. These things were unrelated, often confusing and always wonderful. If you’ve never given someone a new roll of Sellotape or a bag of Angel Delight, you don’t know how to live. Sometimes it’s the smallest things that add up to GOLD.

So it was only natural that during the first holiday season of my life, he introduced me to this radical new approach to Advent, eschewing any commercial offerings and starting with a delivery of Joneses Crumpets at dawn on the 1st December. It progressed to include personalized pot, candles, Sally Clarke tarts (the best in the business), a big pack of Quavers (also the best in the business), flower frogs, 1920 Claridges matches, a brochure on cults and vintage. silver stars from a stationer in Paris (love the approval).