Hosting visitors can be challenging at any time of year, but it’s especially loaded at Christmas. Photo / 123rf
Hosting visitors can be challenging at any time of year, but it’s especially loaded at Christmas. Photo / 123rf
Opinion by Debora Robertson
Debora Robertson writes lifestyle pieces for The Telegraph.
Having visitors at Christmas can be challenging, with pressure to create a perfect experience.
Set expectations and plan meals to make the holiday more manageable and enjoyable.
Communicate clearly about contributions and boundaries to avoid stress and ensure a pleasant time.
Hosting the festive feast or expecting houseguests for the holidays? The Telegraph’s Debora Robertson shares her advice for how to handle it.
All year, we muddle along in our usual routines. Sometimes we have cereal for dinner, there are pants drying on the radiator, the dog sleeps on the bed,you’ve got the thermostat set just the way you like it, and each evening is a festival of sobbing through David Attenborough documentaries interspersed with hate-watching one of the Real Housewives shows and congratulating yourself that however bad it gets, at least you’re not turning over tables in restaurants or falling into a hedge after too many margaritas.
Then along comes Christmas and suddenly we pretend we’re Martha Stewart, exhaling cinnamon-scented sighs as we go from wreath-making to creating a spreadsheet for brining the turkey and lubricating the fruitcake no one wants with yet more brandy. We eschew normal life as we embrace the roles of chambermaid, chef, chief entertainment officer, family counsellor and full-time good egg.
It’s a lot of pressure and, honestly, most of it we put on ourselves. A couple of years ago, I swapped my life in London for a quieter life in a French village by the sea. I know now that if you want solitude, don’t move to a pretty house on a harbour. In our first year, we had 32 visitors. I saw more of some of our London friends by moving 1000km away from them than I ever did when we shared a postcode. I had accidentally become a seaside landlady.
It can be challenging to have people to stay, and at Christmas we have all the usual pressures with the added responsibility – fuelled by Hallmark movies and supermarket Christmas adverts – to make it magical.
Oh honestly, magical can do one. There’s so much pressure – usually on the woman of the house – to make everything from scratch, to make nice, to make memories. I’m here to say that The Good Enough Christmas is often the most memorable Christmas of all. You don’t end up a frazzled mess, you don’t feel guilty that you haven’t made four kinds of potatoes, and you enjoy time with the people you love.
Ten years from now, everyone’s favourite anecdote from Christmas 2024 will be that Cousin Fred slept on sofa cushions in the hall, not that his sheets and pillowcases didn’t match or that you spent three days making that special terrine with the chicken livers and pistachios.
A successful Christmas begins and ends with setting expectations. Photo / 123rf
Let everyone know what the plans are
It’s all in the planning, and I’m not just talking about grocery lists and cooking times. A successful Christmas with a house full of guests begins and ends with setting expectations. This means it’s very important to use your words, which so many British people are reluctant to do, believing as we do in the power of telepathy to overcome all conflict.
In my career as a food writer, I’ve been on many press trips and there’s something very soothing about having the day laid out for you: “8am Minibus; 9am Factory visit; 10.30am Learn how to make cheese; 12.30pm Lunch”. While I’m not suggesting you run Christmas like a press trip, there’s something to be said for letting guests know roughly what the shape of their days might be, and that they’re welcome to opt in or opt out of anything they like.
Not everyone wants to go to midnight mass, not everyone finds that eight-mile hike in pelting sleet on Boxing Day character-forming. Some people like to go to bed early, some like to sit and watch telly or read a book. Do try to build in space when people can spend time alone if they want, and that includes you, the host. We can’t be ON every minute. We’re not Butlin’s Redcoats. Too much proximity is as likely to provoke conflict as too much booze.
Set out the menu for lunch…
Let guests know roughly what you plan to serve on Christmas Day, but do it in a way that makes it clear you’re not a line cook taking orders. You need to know about serious allergies only; preferences are indulgences. There’s usually so much food anyway that if someone doesn’t care for parsnips or Brussels sprouts or whatever, there are plenty of other things they can eat without drawing attention to themselves (unless, of course, that is the intention).
Certainly, no one wants a surprise vegan on Christmas morning. Ask them what they’d like to eat ahead of time. Sometimes, depending on the level of closeness, you can ask them to bring it or prepare it themselves, but do it in a way that suggests you want to learn a new thing rather than that it’s an annoyance.
…and breakfast, lunch and tea?
Usually, visitors aren’t just there for the main event, Christmas lunch, but also for several other meals around that. In my Accidental Seaside Landlady life, I’ve learnt that in order not to feel like a skivvy, it’s important to make it clear what’s on the menu.
I usually set the table for breakfast the night before and let people know there are yoghurts, fruit, cereal, bread for toast, butter, salted and unsalted, all the preserves known to humanity, plus Marmite and honeys of many nations. People can come down when they want and help themselves. If they want a cooked breakfast, there are the ingredients in the fridge and the stove’s at their disposal.
Lunch is usually bread and cheese, salad, joyful leftovers. Dinner is often the main event. Sometimes we go out. Often we stay home and cook together, or keen visiting cooks can take the reins. Don’t be precious and territorial about your kitchen – let people cook for you sometimes. Corral non-cooks into washing up. You might, however, want to supervise putting away if you ever want to see that nutcracker again.
It’s fine to be straight with people and ask them to make a contribution. Photo / 123rf
Don’t be shy about sharing the cost
Having people to stay is, hopefully, tremendous fun but it can also cost a fortune, especially at Christmas. If you’re in the position to shoulder the whole cost, that’s wonderful, but if you’re not it’s fine to be straight with people and ask them to make a contribution.
Be specific. Don’t be embarrassed. Ask for what you need, whether that’s cheese, canapés or a case of wine, Christmas pudding, pies and cake, or other desserts. Play to people’s strengths and ask them to bring the things you know they most like eating (or drinking) as that way you’re most likely to get the best quality.
If there are guests you don’t trust to buy decent food, ask them to bring candles, crackers or table decorations. If it’s close friends and family, I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with asking for a small financial contribution to defray costs either.
Know when to say no
Sometimes, the nicest possible people can behave like monsters at Christmas. They can make unreasonable demands – bringing extra guests, wanting to change your menu at the last minute, hijacking your visitors for activities no one’s particularly interested in. If it’s something that bothers you, calmly and politely put your foot down. Say no. People’s feelings may be hurt for a second, but that’s better than suffering simmering resentment. Frankly, the only thing that should be simmering is your leftover turkey casserole.
There are also occasions where people are spoiling for a fight. Don’t give them the satisfaction (or another drink) and don’t take the bait. Smile and move on. As my mother says, “Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?”
There’s no shame in asking people to bring their own sleeping necessities. Photo / 123rf
Dealing with sleeping arrangements
If you don’t have enough of anything – bed linen, towels, duvets – there’s no shame in asking people to bring their own. It also helps to cut down on the inevitable post-visit Laundry Mountain. Ditto cheerful paper napkins and tablecloths.
There’s also no shame in sending Laundry Mountain out to the cleaners, rather than attempting to housemaid through it yourself.
If you have more people than beds, there are some great airbeds now that are quite deep and easy to pump up, though do give them to your more youthful and limber guests. It’s not sleeping on an airbed while old that’s the problem, it’s getting up off one.
I love having people to stay and I want them to feel at home. It’s not a terrible idea to spend a night in your own guest room to see if there’s anything missing. Are there enough hooks for dressing gowns? Hangers? A waste paper basket? Are the pillows and duvet still good? Do the curtains block out enough light?
Once I’ve covered the basics, I also put a basket of treats in people’s rooms, including things such as good chocolate, posh biscuits, fruit, bottles of water and anything else I know they’re particularly fond of. I also put a small stack of books and a couple of new magazines they might enjoy, along with leaflets for local museums and other attractions open over the Christmas holidays. If they have small children, I add a few toys along with fresh boxes of crayons and colouring books or anything else I think they might enjoy.
The bad guest guide
The worst guests show up as though they’re some sort of Christmas influencer ready for you to entertain them for their Instagram grid. These are often people who are genuinely old enough to know better.
I know I say use your words, but there are times when, for your own equilibrium, it’s better to hold your tongue. If you’ve let people know what contribution you’d like them to make and they arrive empty-handed, you just have to make the best of it in order to protect your own Mother Claus bonhomie. If they contribute in other ways, by being amusing and charming and helpful, I give them a pass. If, however, they behave badly, are churlish and ungrateful, I never invite them again. Ever.
