If I haven’t bundled up and spun around in circles, then it’s not Christmas. I can chart my existence through London’s ice rinks. Broadgate Circus back in the early 00s, since it was the most affordable and I was broke. Numerous seasons of Skate at Somerset House with my former partner, as it was our “romantic” holiday ritual (truthfully, he detested skating). This year, I’m blending the old with the new: Hampton Court Palace, where skating has been a tradition since the 1800s, and the first-ever Skate Leicester Square. As long as there’s a steaming mug of something mulled afterward, I’m content. Rachel Dixon, travel writer
Years back, a regrettable ex bought me a merman ornament for the Christmas tree so strange it sent my mind into a tailspin, awakening something primal within me. Since then, I’ve searched department stores, quirky shops, and the most hidden corners of the web for additional mermaid ornaments, like a sort of flamboyant Gollum. I now own over a hundred, featuring a flutist mermaid, various Santa mermen, and (my personal favorite) a merperson who, quite uniquely, is also a pig and a ballerina. Unboxing my collection at December’s start signals both the joyous reality of Christmas approaching and – arguably – a plea for assistance. Joe Stone, lifestyle editor, Guardian Saturday magazine
In recent years, I’ve taken to carrying my Christmas tree home. Children grin and point, strangers greet me, and last year, an elderly gentleman interrupted me to share a lengthy Christmas joke, but – most importantly – walking down the street with a 2m (7ft) tree casually perched on my shoulder is the only occasion I feel somewhat masculine. Besides getting tipsy on mulled wine and making polite chatter with my extended relatives, this is the most festive I feel each year. Stuart Heritage, writer
I don’t recollect at what age my father commenced the tradition of making fish pie on Christmas Eve, but at some stage in my youth, it became a staple, enjoyed every year since. During my time in Dubai, I scoured six supermarkets for smoked haddock and even prepared it with smoked herring for my in-laws in the Netherlands, which turned out surprisingly delicious! Nothing screams “Christmas is coming” like a dish that demands copious amounts of butter and cheese. Lizzie Cernik, writer
To sidestep the chaotic last-minute rush for gift-giving, I procure my presents year-round. To keep the holiday cheer alive throughout December (and to smugly remind myself of my organization), I engage in “intermittent wrapping” and wrap a gift every few days. This not only helps to avoid the dreadful hastily wrapped surprises but gradually builds up a collection of gifts that gives me the sense of being like Mr. Claus. Sammy Gecsoyler, writer
Starting from December 1st, I showcase my festive dinnerware and won’t eat any meals unless they are served on seasonal-themed plates. This practice brings me joy three times daily – or more, if snacks are counted. I suggest starting off subtly with an Anna + Nina candy cane plate or an Anthropologie ice-skating mug. By the 25th, you’ll find yourself reaching for a novelty bowl and savoring Christmas pudding from baby Jesus’s visage. Frances Ryan, writer
For me, the holiday season doesn’t commence unless I’ve earnestly attempted (preferably after a couple of glasses of mulled wine) to sing a Christmas carol descant that’s undeniably out of my range. While that may not appeal to all, attending a Christmas concert or carol service is an absolute way to awaken that festive spirit – and it doesn’t need to be in a church; the choir I belong to performs our Christmas show at a neighborhood pub. Lucy Knight, writer
My beloved holiday tradition initiated during lockdown: to keep my then-six-year-old entertained, we baked (roughly) Christmas tree-shaped cookies. We ended up with an excess we could never consume, so we placed them on the doorsteps of neighbors. The subsequent year, remembering how they had lifted everyone’s spirits, we repeated the process. Now, neighbors proclaim our delivery marks the onset of the festive season – akin to Santa merged with Mary Berry (though that’s quite the insult to both). Polly Hudson, writer
I carve out a quiet half-hour to revisit (or listen to) David Sedaris’s Santaland Diaries, which chronicles the holiday season a 33-year-old Sedaris spent as an elf at Macy’s department store. Clad in green velvet, Crumpet (Sedaris’s elf name) and his fellow elves observe the best, yet mostly the worst, of the heightened season: dreadful parenting, outrageous demands, and tantrums, punctuated with occasional magical moments. It serves as a bleakly humorous, timely reminder of how the pressure cooker of Christmas can morph us all into monsters. Emma Beddington, writer
I prepare Christmas pudding; I’m not a fan of the dish myself – but right before I start making them, I begin the hunt for pudding basins that experts, from Nigella to Nigel Slater, claim are the best. Some years I find just two basins without lids, other times only lids, and occasionally nothing at all. Then I reach out to all my family and friends who are close enough that they might swipe my pudding basins, before inevitably buying new ones. Once this errand is complete, I’ve essentially hosted a Jane Austen-level visiting season infused with holiday spirit, and thus Christmas officially begins. Zoe Williams, writer
Each year, I craft my own Christmas cards. The journey begins in late November as I venture out to capture photographs of London’s festive lights – the angels on Regent Street and the quirky designs in Carnaby Street are my prime favorites. I cue up Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas to immerse myself in the holiday spirit, then I develop prints of the best snapshots and assemble the cards using blank card kits. This has become a cherished ritual I eagerly anticipate – as do my loved ones who receive them. Anita Chaudhuri, writer
I typically endeavor to taste the entire array of holiday coffees from popular chains – many turning out dreadful, most being overly pricey. Black Forest, gingerbread, eggnog, potpourri – if it’s available as a coffee, I’m inclined to buy it – not because I particularly enjoy the synthetic flavor of apple but because, to me, nothing feels as festive as inhaling a week’s worth of sugar in just a few sips at 10am. Kate McCusker, writer
Over the past few winters, a group of friends and I have frequented a local outdoor sauna for gatherings. Initially, we started in summertime, but they really shine during the deep chill. I adore the scent of cedar and the intense serenity of the heat. However, plunging into the cold water while giggling with one another, all while gazing up at the twinkling Christmas lights from nearby buildings, takes on an almost spiritual essence. The sauna hasn’t entirely supplanted our wine-fueled catch-ups. But it’s making strides in that direction. Morwenna Ferrier, Guardian fashion and lifestyle editor
Every holiday season, my siblings and I decorate the Christmas cake my mother prepared and soaked in alcohol months prior. We utilize rolled fondant icing and always carve out three decorative polar bears, while my mother opts for a fondant Christmas tree, and my father usually aims for some unpredictable creation: perhaps a snowman with an unusually long nose. Before indulging on Christmas Day, we all share some hearty laughter at how our designs have turned out. Emma Russell, Guardian production coordinator
Urban life in winter can feel oppressive – dull, soggy, and congested. Then, out of nowhere, the street decor lights illuminate and everyone’s mood appears to brighten. My family and I consistently choose an afternoon to bundle up in scarves and gloves, awaiting darkness (around 4pm) to admire the London lights, from the elegant displays on Regent Street to the slightly ludicrous offerings on Oxford Street. Glancing up, I cannot help but feel festive. Lucy Webster, writer
We indulge in a holiday film each day throughout December. This strategy functions perfectly as it alleviates the stress on any single film being exceptional: if one day produces a Christmas flop, a classic is less than 24 hours away. It also minimizes disagreements: there’s ample space for six small-town romcoms as well as Elf and Trading Places. It’s a tradition of give-and-take, along with overindulgence until feeling slightly queasy. What could be more holiday-like than that? Joel Snape, writer
When oranges accumulate in the fruit bowl, there’s only one course of action: make Nigella’s clementine cake. (While I refer to it as Nigella’s, its true creator is none other than Claudia Roden.) It’s arguably the most exquisitely moist, fragrant, uplifting cake, sending your home smelling of a Moroccan orange grove. This cake embodies the essence of Christmas – requiring little but providing abundantly. Chitra Ramaswamy, writer
I have never sat through all Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College, yet I’ve seen Rambo: First Blood at least thrice. I’ve also played Paul McCartney’s, let’s say unique, Christmas tune Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reggae enough times to fill a stocking. Because what defines Christmas better than a blend of beauty, culture, high art, elegance, anguished muscle men hiding in frosty December forests, and violin-infused novelty record renditions? Nell Frizzell, writer
Every year I sew (not very well) a felt decoration for each child’s stocking – something that reflects the past twelve months. Last year brought a depiction of our new dog, but previous years have included a cow (representing my daughter’s role in the nativity) and a sprout, symbolizing my son’s perfectly round baby head. The grand unveiling of the new decoration has become part of the excitement, and the gift to myself, through my less-than-perfect crafting attempts, is an overwhelming sense of pride. Emine Saner, writer
It’s not Christmas until I’m at my parents’ home in Bristol on Christmas Eve, assisting with a few sprouts, before heading off to my local – The Black Swan – to catch up with friends, indulge a little, and maybe even share a Christmas kiss. However, as the years have rolled by, my friends have all relocated, I’m cautious of hangovers, and many girls are now married. So, my only chance to enjoy the festive spirit lies in going to The Black Swan with my parents and their friends and, at best, hoping for a Christmas kiss from my mother. Rich Pelley, writer
My yearly wreath-making endeavor is merely a clever excuse for procrastination. Instead of tackling festive tasks, I roam the woods with secateurs in search of the best holly berries. Once back home, I push the holly, along with ivy and wild rosehip, into a sturdy wicker ring I saved from a grocery store years ago. It’s a calming and mindful, albeit prickly, activity, and the outcome always looks and smells wonderfully festive. Amy Fleming, writer
One unexpected joy in being out of sync with the television release schedule is the ability to set aside a cherished vintage Christmas episode for a cozy December night. For instance, I discovered Mackenzie Crook’s charming series, Detectorists, a few years after it aired. After blitzing through season two in spring, I was led to the 2015 Christmas special. But no; this was not the right moment. Seven months later, during Boxing Day evening, I recognized exactly what I craved. On this year’s agenda? The Ghosts Christmas special. Rebecca Liu, commissioning editor, Guardian Saturday magazine
I do not explicitly remember watching A Charlie Brown Christmas; yet, when I heard Vince Guaraldi Trio’s Christmas Time Is Here a decade ago in a bar, it felt notably familiar and comforting. I acquired a copy on spruce green vinyl, and listening to the album has become an essential holiday ritual. Subsequently, my children also took a liking to it, insisting we play it on repeat starting in October. The relaxed jazz and beautifully chaotic children’s choir provide our backdrop while writing cards and adorning the tree. Sarah Phillips, writer
I gather wrapping paper and ribbons. The more the paper resembles something crafted by elves, the better: I hunt for vividly marbled or roughly textured lokta varieties. For approximately seventeen years, my annual challenge has been to keep them hidden, thereby preserving the elves’ myth until they emerge on Christmas morning in the stockings. I believed my children would have outgrown this. They possibly have; it’s me who hasn’t. Paula Cocozza, writer
Upon moving in with my three flatmates, my mother gifted us her old holiday decorations. Among them was a quirky Father Christmas toilet seat cover, mat, and toilet roll holder. Now four years later, it has become a staple for the festive period; the moment the Santa cover is in place, Christmas has officially begun. It’s admittedly rather impractical – the toilet seat frequently falls down while you’re using the restroom due to Father Christmas’s nose – yet it never fails to elevate the mood. Emma Loffhagen, books writer
