HO HO House of Commons: If I had to buy all of my Christmas presents from Parliament this is what I’d get and for who

I am in Parliament on official press business. I never saw myself becoming Country Life’s political correspondent; an ugly job, but someone has to do it. I am here to hold truth to power, to ask the questions no-one else dares and to vigorously investigate the festive offerings of the House of Commons gift shop.

In a room with a plush red carpet that smells unmistakably of strong cheese, a dull clock chimes while a cornucopia of Parliamentary Christmas delights are presented to me by the gift-shop team. Along with the classic cheeses, wines and chocolates that you might expect, there are some more government-specific gifts too.

There is an entire Big Ben range; an Elizabeth Tower calendar (for the most boring architect you know), a £550 bottle of whisky, and a rubber duck shaped like the famous clock (but no stuffed toy version, as it went viral in China and the team have struggled to restock it). There is an own-brand ‘Lego’ version created after a dispute with actual Lego (the Danish brick makers retired their model and are apparently refusing to bring it back, so the staff at the Commons gift shop have taken matters into their own hands).

If big clocks aren’t your thing, worry not, there is also a ‘Votes for Women’ range — a surefire way to spoil all the politics-mad gals (or performative men) in your life this December. Indulge in an enamel pin emblazoned with the slogan ‘Deeds not Words’, a cross-stitch kit, a suffragette Christmas bauble made by a women’s collective in Thailand, an iron-on patch set and a controversial apron. They have aprons for all their ranges, a man from the shop assures me, and are determined to stick up for the item as many of the suffragettes adopted it as a symbol at the time. They also have a ‘Suffraduck’ which, in a win for feminists, sells better than the Big Ben one, according to staff.

Parliament’s very own tribute to traditional British fare, the House of Commons Jerk Seasoning Mix is also available to purchase, inspired by the popular meal staffers have once a week — each year more than 18,000 servings of jerk chicken and jerk pork are consumed in Parliament.

There is more. An entry way doormat which reads ‘Hats off, strangers’, a nod to the mostly antiquated etiquette saying shouted by the police inspector on duty each day when the Commons’ and Lords’ Speakers ceremonially open their Houses. There is a House of Commons shot glass (to really get the party started), a hand-crafted angel reminiscent of the ones in Westminster Hall (Alan Titchmarsh is the proud owner of two) and a Palace of Westminster encaustic tile. Designed by the architect A. W. N. Pugin, these have been trodden upon by some of our countries most famous and infamous politicians. Removed as part of a nine-year restoration project, some are now for sale. But best be quick: ‘We have no idea how many we have left and when they will run out,' one gift shop staff member told me.

There is enough here to do an entire Christmas shop. So, out of all of these presents — some admittedly quite tasteful and thoughtful, and some unsettling and strange — which would I purchase for my nearest and dearest?

For my mother

The peaches preserved in brandy, which were some of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted, and a bottle of the House of Commons Vintage Brut 2013 by Digby. A sparkling wine produced in Sussex, where my mother lives, and extremely moreish: £35 a bottle is a bargain in my opinion.

For my father

Churchill’s House of Commons Dry White Port and a hearty chunk of Godminster cheese. Aged for 10 years in seasoned wood casks with aromas of grated nutmeg and eucalyptus, the port is the perfect Christmas tipple, and white port makes a nice change from the classic red. Cheese-wise, the black truffle cheddar is particularly good.

For my younger brother

There could be no other gift than The House of Commons Repeating Portcullis Phone Case — Green. He has never voted, to my knowledge, but is always on his phone so I think this would be a deeply ironic choice for him.

For my boyfriend’s parents

The his-and-hers bone china Honourable Lady and Honourable Gentleman mugs — to show them the respect they deserve this festive season.

For my best friend

It always had to be the ‘votes for women’ rubber ducky. I met my best friend at the all girls’ school we survived together and therefore this is the perfect gift to commemorate our friendship, founded in the staunchest of feminist environments. She’s just moved in with her boyfriend, so I actually did purchase this duck as a housewarming gift for them. She was delighted. I’m not sure what he thought of it.

For my worst enemy

The annual Christmas jumper. It’s now a bestseller after going viral on Twitter in 2017 — for being the most sexless object of clothing known to man, I assume. Someone was wearing one in a Covid ‘Partygate’ photo, which is all the evidence needed that it is not a desirable purchase. ‘We sell them all over the world to people in surprising places,’ says one staff member, listing Dubai and the Middle East as some of the most surprising. ‘And we’ve had a lot of interest from lobby journalists. They want to wear them.’ Enough said.

For myself

Definitely the Big Ben limited-edition whisky. Retailing for £550, the 35-year-old bottle of single grain scotch whisky, which comes in an ornate oak box and is shaped like the Elizabeth Tower, commemorates the completion of its restoration in 2022. Only 334 bottles have been released — the number of steps to the belfry of the tower — and the whisky was specially selected by Sir Lindsay Hoyle, the 158th Speaker of the House. If the spirit of Christmas goodwill moved the House of Common’s press team to send a bottle to the Country Life offices this festive season, it would be most gratefully received.

For my boyfriend

When I saw the House of Common’s very own plushie toy of the Speaker's cat, Attlee, I knew I had to rescue him. He will usurp Larry (fame-wise), if the House of Commons press team have any say in the matter. 'He’s getting a bit of a profile now,’ one tells me. ‘There’s no stuffed toy of Larry in our shop,’ says another, smugly. Attlee’s feline visage has been plastered all over pretty much every object imaginable: an A5 notepad, enamel fridge magnet, enamel lapel pin, a greeting cards set, stationary set, tea towel, travel cup, tree decoration and water bottle. All bearing his disgruntled expression. Attlee, in toy and cat version, looks extremely haggard. He is a cat who has seen too many politicians and become sick and tired of their lies.

After one too many complimentary port ‘tastings’ in the gifting suite, I was convinced that I had to rid him of his miserable existence in Parliament for the bargain price of £25. On returning home I presented the stuffed toy merrily to my boyfriend who promptly chopped off his collar with a pair of scissors, liberating Attlee from his Parliamentary service. I placed him on the shelf, but my boyfriend insisted Attlee would feel ‘left out’ if he didn’t get to sleep in the bed with us. I now sometimes wake in the night to see his glass green eyes, which have retained their rather haunted look, staring me in the face. Not my best purchase, but I do feel for the little fella. You can follow him on Instagram at @attlee_the_cat.

For more information visit the gift shop’s website.