This Christmas, no fewer than 15 children in the O’Reilly clan will receive lovingly crafted letters from Rufus Frost, secretary to Santa and his most trusted elf The envelope is deep and rich and red, gleaming darkly like the brushed felt of an Edwardian billiard table. Had its recipient any class, it would be savoured, appreciated, perhaps even pulled close and sniffed. This sleeve has, after all, travelled many thousands of miles to get here and done so via mysterious means. Yes, it bears a stamp in its top right corner, a hand-drawn image of an elf, but it’s also unblemished by postmark or seal. Of course, none of this is relevant in any case, since it isn’t destined to be examined, but immediately annihilated, to reveal the true prize inside. My Christmas letters allowed me to indulge in my lifelong passion for misappropriating workplace stationery My name is Rufus Frost. I work at the North Pole as Santa’s most trusted elf. I have a special badge and everything. We put quotes on the book from JK Rowling ('A triumph'), Ray Winstone ('Superb!') and The Queen ('I literally farted')

For decades, Kate Edgley struggled with insomnia. She tried everything, but nothing seemed to work… Here, she reveals the terrible toll it took on her life – and how she eventually realised her dreams My brain flickered into consciousness and, a moment later, a tiny lift in my chest made itself known. Glee. A simple but palpable joy on waking. I bounded out of bed, looking forward to the day. Then a sudden jolt had me standing, motionless, gazing across the room in wonder. I’m looking forward to my day! I’m looking forward to my day? Bloody hell! A slow grin squeezed my cheeks as energy zipped around my body and, refusing to be contained, had me gyrating my hips and arms in sync, dancing, naked, around my bedroom, wondering whether I’d care – or stop – if either of my teenage children walked in. I’m looking forward to my day! I’m looking forward to my day! Whaaaaa-hoo! It was, in fact, an ordinary day. I was getting the train to work, sitting in an office, then coming home again. But my energy! I could feel it pulsing through me and my body tingled with vitality. Later, at my desk, my concentration was focused, the words I was reading hanging together. Walking around the building, my torso stood tall. In conversations, my brain and mouth played ball. None of which had been the case all on the same day for a long, long time. My past unravelled and so, to my regret, did my marriage My bedroom is now a sanctuary, a haven I can curl up in at night

Its latest landmark, the Elbphilharmonie, dominates the waterfront but throughout this port city there is captivating art, architecture and music I made my Hamburg discovery in the

Solutions for the ‘last mile’ of your commute vary from the weird to the boring, but this nifty and lightweight scooter will certainly put a smile on your face

Think you don’t have the space for a tree in your garden? The simple solution is to use pots As we head towards midwinter all seems quiet in the garden, but now is the perfect time for the most exciting of horticultural new beginnings: planting a tree. Worry you don’t have the space? Gardening on concrete? Concerned about the foundations of your house? There is a simple solution to all of these common problems: grow a small tree in a pot. This is often overlooked so, in an effort to change that, here’s a round up of the best species for pot culture, which will work well in even the tiniest of city gardens. The most commonly suggested candidate for this treatment is an olive – and with good reason. They are evergreen, have character from a young age and, hailing from the often thin soils of the Med, don’t mind the root restriction and the faster rate of drying out that inevitably happens in containers. The ability of small trees in pots to be sited up against the walls of houses without affecting foundations means these exotic trees can benefit from the warm microclimate the brickwork creates as it absorbs heat in the day to then emit it overnight. Hailing from the often thin soils of the Med, olive trees don’t mind the root restriction

Stuffed aubergines and figs with pistachio biscuits – two dishes to create a rich and colourful winter feast There is invariably an aubergine dish on the table at Christmas. Primarily for those who don’t want to eat meat, but also for anyone who just fancies tucking in. Generally the aubergine is seasoned with rosemary or thyme, the sort of herbs that survive a good roasting. I avoid the kneejerk spices associated with aubergine recipes – cinnamon and cumin and allspice – because the season’s cooking is awash with spices. There are half a dozen in the Christmas pudding alone. I have grilled aubergines and marinated them in olive oil, chopped garlic and lemon juice and served with jagged pieces of aged feta. On another occasion I fried long thin slices in a little flour to give a crisp tempura-like crust and offered them with a salsa of pomegranate seeds and mint. There have been simple aubergine fritters and, once, a ridiculously complicated galette. But this year I’m letting the fruit speak for itself, with just a few herbs and a handful of hazelnuts for a bit of textural contrast. It’s been a good autumn for figs and they bake lusciously when surrounded by a pool of Marsala and fruit jelly

Try one at home for a super-cool face refresh You will all know by now that I’m addicted to a cold blast, that I get giddy from cold-water dips. I once heard that the reason that Pharrell Williams’s face looks so good is because he plunges it into ice regularly. I get that - I can totally understand why people want to blast themselves in cold stuff and why people are paying lots of money for the latest desirable trend of full-body cryotherapy (standing in a ‘chamber’ that’s a bit like a freezer for a few minutes). When I heard that you can get home-cryo facial kits, I got excited. A bona fide instrument for massaging and icing-up my face was too tempting not to try – and I blooming love it.

Talented young chef Michael Carr’s cooking could warm your heart. If only his dining room wasn’t so chilly…

Seeds, string and secateurs… A few present suggestions for the green-fingered people you know All I want for Christmas is a steaming pile of manure, though I’m always happy to be given seed.

For some people, tradition dictates a bottle of claret, but there are other equally celebratory ways to go

A scathing restaurant review reveals the way in which standing up to sexual harrassment is having an effect in areas of life many would never have expected What proportion of our interest in food has to do with taste? Would you say 30% or 40%? There’s the level of hunger to take into account, too. Whether or not you had breakfast, and whether or not it involved an egg. And then the remaining 60%, that’s to play for. It depends on whether or not you’re dining with someone you’re trying to impress, or get off with, or hate. Whether or not you’re getting over a cold. I watched an experiment on kids TV this week, using a cross-section model of a human head to explain why a nose full of snot (they used handfuls of green slime which the polystyrene smell molecules got stuck in, preventing them getting to the olfactory receptors) affects the eating experience. Fascinating. Disgusting. Then there’s whether or not the people next to you have got something better. Where it came from. What it looks like. What you earn. What it cost. Whether or not you’re alone. Whether or not you’re happy. And on. Food is never simply a pie on a plate. A similar template can be placed on food writing. Recipe books tell us a hundred tiny stories about journeys we might make. Last week the

It’s 1969 and the Observer wonders how Britain’s most infamous TV character would benefit from learning how to dance, cook and arrange flowers The rather bizarre cover of the

You’re not alone, says Mariella Frostrup. Get professional help to muster resilience and determination. We need people like you to change our political trajectory

This festive season there’s a party right at your fingertips Sometimes it’s hard to party, verb. Sometimes the weight of having to enjoy oneself in a room of virtual strangers, especially at this time of year when darkness falls at four, is just too much. Which is where the party nail comes in. Here is your chance to enjoy a disco from the safety of your sofa, wearing pyjamas and big socks, but having painted your nails a glittering rainbow of marvellous colours. You’ll catch a glimpse of them in the light of the telly, and smile.

For years, the hard-working Ford has been a favourite of Middle England – and it still has all the virtues we need in these turbulent days