5 Reasons The Best Present I've Given This Year Was A Laundry Basket
I did not set out to do this. It happened one birthday at a time.
The Quick Take
- It turns up already looking like a present, because the design runs the whole way round
- Hand-quilted, so it feels chosen rather than grabbed off a shelf
- Nobody buys themselves a nice one, which is exactly why it lands
- Three sizes, so you need to know her house rather than her taste
- And the daft one: there is a spare one in my airing cupboard right now
The basket is the Lulu, from Evely Rose Boutique.
I should explain how this started. I bought mine in the spring for the towels in our hallway, mostly because the plastic one we had been using had cracked along the rim and I had stopped being able to look at it. My sister noticed it the first time she visited and asked where it was from before she had taken her coat off. She had one of her own by August. My neighbour has one now. A woman from my walking group has two. Somewhere in the middle of all that I stopped buying people candles, and I have not gone back to it.
It Turns Up Already Looking Like A Present
The design runs the whole way round the basket. There is no plain back panel, no seam to turn towards the wall, no wrong way to hand it over. When my sister's birthday came round I tied a ribbon about the middle of hers and that was the wrapping finished, which at my age is a real saving in patience and sellotape.
She could see exactly what it was the moment she took the ribbon off, and what it was happened to be lovely. That is a rarer combination in a present than anybody admits.
It Feels Made Rather Than Bought
The whole thing is hand-quilted, soft lines of stitching running over padded fabric, with flat canvas handles sewn into the sides rather than glued on. It stands up by itself whether it is full or empty, which not one of the cheap ones I owned before ever managed for long.
And here is the thing I have now watched happen four separate times. When you hand it to somebody, they touch it. They run a hand over the stitching the way you would over a cushion. Nobody in the history of the world has ever stroked a plastic bin.
Nobody Buys Themselves A Nice One
This is the reason that surprised me, and I have come to think it is the real one. Women I know will happily spend on a good throw, a decent mug, proper hand cream. Not one of them would spend thirty-odd pounds on the thing the washing goes in. It belongs to that category of object you only replace when the old one physically gives up, and then you replace it with another cheap one, and round it goes for another few years.
Which is precisely what makes it work as a present. You are not adding another ornament to a house that is already full. You are quietly upgrading something she handles every single day and has long since stopped seeing.
You Only Need To Know How Big Her House Is
There are three sizes. Small suits a bathroom, a spare room, or one person's wash. Medium is right for most bedrooms and is the one most people settle on. Large will take a family's worth of washing without complaining about it.
That is the quiet advantage of it as a gift. You do not need to know her size, her colours, or whether she has gone off pink since last year. You need a rough idea of how much laundry her house makes, and you can work that out from one visit.
There Is A Spare One In My Cupboard Right Now
The daft one, and I know it. There is a basket on the top shelf of my airing cupboard with a ribbon already on it and nothing written on the label. I have reached the age where birthdays arrive sideways, and I have spent too many wet Tuesday afternoons in a garden centre buying a candle for somebody who did not want a candle.
So I keep one back, the way my mother kept a tin of ham in for unexpected visitors. Somebody is going to get it. I have not decided who.
Would I Buy It Again?
I have bought four now, so I think that rather settles the question. But the part I did not see coming is that the second one was not a present at all. It was for me.
That one is the Fillia, and it sits beside the armchair in the front room with the throws rolled up on end inside it. It has never once been near a washing machine. Two baskets, two completely different jobs, and I only ever set out to solve one of them.
If you are buying for somebody else, it is worth knowing they do a discount on two or more. I would not have thought to mention it, except that everybody I have told has ended up with more than one anyway.
— Diane, Harrogate
Two practical notes before you go. These are hand-quilted in small runs and there is a sale on at the moment, so the size you want will not necessarily wait about for you. And the cats are one of thirty-seven designs in the collection, so if the woman you have in mind is more wildflowers than cats, there will be one that is properly hers.
