Christmas shopping is a nightmare, and is, in some strange way, worsened by all the “helpful” guides that show how many things there are out there to choose from. I remember, years ago, being incredibly impressed by a friend who had found a beautiful photographic book and bought it for everyone, but I’ve never been able to manage something so quick and simple myself.

This year, I have vowed to have a “just buy it” policy, which I hope will mean that I won’t spend hours debating with myself whether someone will like what I’m thinking of buying, then go to look elsewhere to see if I can find something better, only to return hours later to the first shop and more indecision. My new policy works best if you earmark some good shops in which you actually enjoy spending time and set yourself a target of at least two presents per store.

In general, a present is most successful when it is something you can’t justify buying for yourself, which I suppose is why I yearn for an incredibly chic food processor more than I do a winter coat. Clothes I can justify for work purposes, but buying a new food processor, when I already have one, is unacceptable extravagance.

The best presents should be pure pleasure. Mini-bottles of Champagne are good for both sexes, and fantastic to have in the fridge so you can glug one down in the bath before a party or, better still, drink it on your own while reading a good thriller. A large box of beribboned and bowed chocolates is something you would never dare buy for yourself, but is such a treat – remember, though, that it must be huge to have the right impact. Linen sheets are luxurious and pretty hard to justify, unless you are making up a wedding list. A cheaper option is a linen-covered, bone shaped head-cushion, which cradles your neck when you are reading in bed. Cashmere slippers are heavenly to slop around in and make you feel special each time you put them on.

Speaking of slippers, I was wondering, the other day, when they became so fashionable. You can’t go into a girly gift shop without drowning in Moroccan mirrored slip-ons. The best slippers I have had (apart from the already mentioned cashmere pair, which eventually became threadbare and had to be thrown out) were a black velvet, rough leather-soled pair that I got from the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. If I had known how much I would love them, I would have stocked up with dozens. Because they have a hard sole, I can wear them outside if I need to, and when I put them on, I don’t feel quite as sloppy as I do in soft varieties. Psychologically, that can be helpful if you want the comfort without the soporific connotations.

Pretty, woolen slippers make a lovely, inexpensive present. And although they are possibly the least flattering objects in the world, sheepskin slippers are heaven, and can be bought from the Celtic Sheepskin Company (www.celticsheepskin.co.uk).

Embroidered slippers for men are only acceptable if they have been lovingly hand-stitched. I keep meaning to do this, but haven’t yet had a relationship long enough to survive my very, very slow needlepoint.

As I write, I am aware that there are 400 Christmas cards sitting in my office waiting to be signed. These will be sent to people I have worked with over the past year and who have had some involvement in British Vogue, where I am the editor. I have a love-hate relationship with these cards. I enjoy receiving cards from people I haven’t seen for ages and who write a message inside. I am also touched by the cards from people I least expect to send them – normally men. The hate bit is the effort involved in doing it myself.

Somebody suggested the other day that I should simply get a stamp of my signature for the cards, which probably qualifies as one of the most unforgivable acts – even the royals sign their own. Instead, I have bought some colored pens to jolly up the process, remembering a tip from Rita Konig, which was to use pink felt-tips when sitting down to pay bills – it somehow makes the act of writing out a huge check to the phone company more palatable.