Just as we started to enjoy the company of those we don’t live with, the rules changed, and so, back we go, to our families, partners and flatmates, who we’ve already spent enough time with this year, thank you very much. The first lockdown blindsided us. We sat on our beds with towels on our heads, sharing memes and eating cereal out of mixing bowls. But the second lockdown - the one that’s not actually a lockdown, but is, for all intents and purposes, a lockdown - is where we get smart. It’s where we utilise our time to enhance our brains and exercise our imaginations. Unlike the first, that coincided with an unruly heatwave, the second comes with wind, rain and 6pm darkness. So head to that stack of books on your bedside table, you know, the one that’s been goading you since March, pick one up, and go find the nearest comfortable chair. Hang on, we’ve skipped a step. You need to draw the curtains and pour yourself something to drink. Perhaps a tea? Or a glass of ‘nice wine’? Then turn off the big lights, stick on the lamps, and light a candle. The candle bit is vital; indispensable to the whole experience. You might think it's a bit cliché, a bit Pinterest even, but lean in to it and revel in its romance. And in lieu of a fire (we're guessing you don't have a fire), why not stick the heating on full whack?
We won’t tell you what book to pick up, because books are pretty personal (though if you are in need of a steer, there’s a good selection here). But candles enjoy more consensus. When the world is on the brink, they can make things seem marginally better, like that sensible friend who tells you to sleep on it, because you probably won’t feel like this in the morning. Couple one with a book, and you’re onto a winner. Unless of course, it’s a political or medical memoir about an unravelling cabinet or insatiable virus.
They say: peppery rose underscored by the pungent, slightly smoky scent of vetiver
I say: The person that penned this is good, because that’s exactly how I’d describe it (though I couldn’t have got there without their help.)
They say: A timeless blend of rose and strawberries, garden peony and oakmoss.
I say: This throws me back to my childhood because with lots of fruity, flowery notes, it reminds me of a strawberry lip balm that was once, my most prized possession. It's comforting and carefree and I think you'd like it too.
They say: A warm and bright fragrance where pine tree’s balsamic notes are heated by the burning woods and made vibrant by tingling and spicy accents.
I say: Like arriving home for Christmas. There's orange peel and cloves swimming in a vat of wine on the hob; mushroom vol au vents are waiting patiently on a platter, and Frank Sinatra’s Ultimate Christmas CD is on loop.
They say: Amble up the sunny pathway and past a fragrant tapestry of thorny shrubs and arching brambles, brimming with red berries. Their fresh juiciness carried on the air.
I say: Like a summer cocktail that you drunk in droves but can’t decipher the ingredients of. It’s dainty and a little bit fizzy, so maybe elderflower and champagne, but there’s definitely berry in there - cassis, is that you?
They say: evokes the atmosphere of Tangier through Cardamom, Mimosa and discreet notes of Tobacco.
I say: First, it comes in a characteristically chic vessel that’s white, ceramic and ripe for repurposing. Scent wise it's delicious and distinctly aromatic, but not what I'd imagine Tangier to smell like - though I have never been. It's so relaxing, I want to say it smells like a cool, non-conformist spa that doesn't deal in lavender.
They say: Your warm welcome home. Comforting and reassuring with camomile, geranium and rose.
I say: Exactly what I imagine when I think about aromatherapy. Lots of mood-boosting botanicals and essential oils.