Why London is going crazy for sequins

Me getting ready for a party: put on fancy dress, peer in mirror, worry it looks too fancy, take it off again, put on jumper, worry about being too hot, worry about the aluminium-free deodorant failing me, wear jumper anyway because I am more worried about looking overdressed than I am about sweating.

The jumperfication of London has a lot to answer for. I mean, I love jumpers. Live in them. But what if — for once — I don’t want to look nonchalantly thrown-together like a Parisian? What if I want to look more Pilgrims Hatch? Will I be judged? ‘Oh, she doesn’t get out much. Bless. Look at her, shining like a cheap, white, delusional Beyoncé.’

Although we’re all delusional divas this Christmas, it seems. Record numbers of people are shopping for sequins this month, according to Lyst — at a rate of one search every 12 minutes. Stop, London, you’re blinding me. Even people who never wear sequins are wearing sequins. Even the crisps are wearing sequins. Even the sequins would be wearing sequins, only they’re all sold out, no matter the price. That sequin and feather Saint Laurent evening gown? None left on Net-A-Porter, despite costing £12,800.

If you want to look modern rather than Mariah, the trick is to layer your sequins underneath some form of humble, apologetic-looking item with a utilitarian feel. Have your polo neck peep from under a denim shirt, allow a slither of skirt to sweep from beneath a trench coat or wear a simple sequin T-shirt with an oversized cardie and good old jeans. That’s what the cool girls are doing and it looks ace. Or you could just, for once in your life, quit worrying about being overdressed and go out looking like the bastard lovechild of Liberace and Céline Dion. That’s who I plan to channel, if I ever ditch the jumper.

GIVE THEM SHELTER

Look up. London looks so beautiful. With its lights, its trees and its bonhomie, Christmas is there for the taking. At least, it is if you have money. Look down. London looks very different from the streets. For the homeless, Christmas is something that happens to other people; the 25th is just another day, made

even grimmer by the heightened absence of home, food and loved ones. That Euston Station is to

open its doors to 200 rough sleepers on Christmas Day is far from a solution to London’s increasing problem, but for the homeless, it’s a ray of light in a bleak, seemingly insoluble landscape. My local church and local secondary school are two more buildings functioning as cold weather shelters over the festive period, but buildings are nothing without the volunteers who run them. More than any twinkling ephemera, these people embody the real spirit of Christmas.

hot under the wine collar

Here comes the seasonal rash of Experts Telling You How You Should Really Eat And Drink Things. What, you’re still sweating your onions in butter? Cook them in a dry pan! Don’t actually imbibe your brie: just smell it, then use it as a face mask. Their latest revelation — that red wine shouldn’t actually be enjoyed at room temperature, because modern room temperatures are too warm — is particularly choice. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got loads of spare time this week to go walking around my house brandishing a thermometer to ensure the Shiraz is served at an optimum 18C. After a year like this one, I think we’re all agreed that so long as it’s wet, plentiful and gets us plastered, we’ll take our wine any way it comes.