I’ve been making tulipieres for weeks now, in my head, at least. They’re an ornate vessel with multiple spouts that date back to the 1600’s. They were originally conceived as a a vase in which to grow tulips, a single bloom emerging from each spout. These days, the tulipiere offers endless possibilities for arranging any cut flower. The one I’m crafting in my head looks somewhat like the vintage one below, only it stands on a dainty pedestal and is painted in my signature blue stripes. I’ve made enough things in my mind to know they rarely look the same in real life. Eight small spouts? We shall see.

Over two decades, we’ve amassed a collection of glasses that ranges from tiny vintage tumblers to hand-blown goblets to dainty champagne coupes in every colour of the rainbow. We’ve attempted to buy glasses in sets, but they rarely stay as such, and so our dinner table is a mish mash of all the above. What I love about Drew Spanenberg’s stemware is that it works both as a set and as a one of a kind piece. This peach cup –– as perfect for prosecco as it is for lemonade –– is just dreamy. They’re all hand blown and limited edition. Wash by hand and keep away from buttery fingers.

We so rarely see sink skirts anymore and I don’t know why because they’re charming. Okay, so there’s the obvious impracticality of spilling mouth wash all over your vintage Guatemalan textile, but really, who doesn’t love to floss over a bustle of fancy fabric? I’d brush my teeth all day at this marble sink, and this candy cane fabric brings the circus to a country kitchen. My favourite is this gorgeous stripe; I love it so much that I wish it was an actual skirt!

Long time readers know about my penchant for fancy powder rooms so it’ll come as no surprise that when we finally renovated our home it was the loo that got the most attention. “Must we have a toilet,” I half joked to the contractor. Even the chicest potties are an eyesore. And don’t get me started on the flush plates. Designers go to great lengths to disguise the toilet. Nicky Haslam has a bespoke commode in the guest loo of his London flat and Maria Speake’s of Retrouvius uses elaborate wallpapers to distract us from from the toilet bowl. We opted for one of those floating designs, and in a moment of madness I considered a black model –– so 80’s –– so that it would blend into the midnight blue walls. I came to my senses, and in the end, I barely notice the loo anymore. That is, unless I’m scouring it. But if I ever design another one, I’m splashing out on a Delfts blue Victorian loo with a mahogany seat. Because, why not?

Elisa Uberti‘s anthropomorphic sculptures are simple and soft and tactile and remind me of what a child might make if you handed her a lump of moulding putty. Only the little girl would paint her two-legged dog pink and green and cover it in sequins and sticky feathers. These are utterly restrained, and stunning in their simplicity. Uberti’s lamps look like creatures from another planet, and her chairs are thrones for aliens.

I’ve made seven large cylinders in the last few weeks, and none have turned out as well as the first. One collapsed, and three cracked straight down the middle. How to bring more of that first-time fresh, unbridled energy to a second or fifth attempt? I have to step away and work on something else. A bowl. A plate. This evening’s dinner. And then try again. And again. You’d think a cylinder would be easy but it’s often the simplest forms that are most unforgiving. As I am not a thrower, I know that my forms will never be as tight as they would be on a wheel, and nor do I want them to be. But cracks won’t do. ‘Practice makes good,’ is my new motto. And Julie Hirschfeld’s lovely pitchers are inspiring me.

Some of Emma Larsson’s compositions look like sea monsters or corals while others look cells under a microscope. Her love of nature is evident in everything she paints. Larsson grew up in the Swedish countryside and would often get lost in a nearby forest. To this day, she wonders into forests searching for inspiration. Watercolour, and the merging of colour and pattern, gives her work a fluid and organic feel. “Beauty is important, but it is subjective. For something to be beautiful, it doesn’t have to be pretty. Personally, I’m not drawn to the “obvious beauty” we’re told to admire in the pages of fancy magazines. There has to be some flaw for me to feel interested; it’s the imperfection or the awkwardness that attracts me.” I find her work exuberant, alien, beautiful and alive.

No matter the season, I can always count on my local corner shop for fresh cut blooms. When buckets of Hyacinths arrive I know that spring’s in sight. So you can imagine my confusion today when I spotted them alongside the last of the amaryllis. Not that I’m complaining, I love hyacinths. It’s just that seeing them gave me some kind of false hope, like tiny, frilly beacons of something that’s not only out of sight, but over the hill, down the lane, and through the forest away. Of course, I bought an armful. The smell is too lovely to resist. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy. (This drawing is by Picasso, by the way. Just another example of his extraordinary range.)

Aussie designer, Jordan Fleming has created a series of floor lamps that meld function with flight of fancy. Constructed from metal, plaster and pigment, each one has its own zany personality. Collectively, they look like a chorus group for some brilliantly eccentric animated film. I imagine them launching into song when no one’s around. “I’m interested in exploring ways to remove the static element of an object, injecting life into it beyond a pretty facade,” says Fleming. They light up a room, with or without electricity. “I’m definitely much freer in my practice over the past few years, trying not to over edit the origins of the idea or fixate too much on the function of the object.”