Last Minute Vegan Christmas Gift Guide 2025

Christmas arrives like an accusation, late, heavy, and relentless. Dragging its tinsel chains across my scratched floor. I wake up to the same throb in my chest. That famuilar tight breath that warns me, I might not make it outside today. The hallway feels miles long. Me, stuck at my laptop, frozen panic macerating my limbs in agony. The door feels impossible to reach. So stuck, I become a prisoner of my clouded mind. I glance at my to-do lists sprawled across the table. Inked messages in frantic crossed out strokes. Buy gifts. Answer messages. Show up. Pretend i’m fine. Unread texts stack like bricks on my ribs. Too much pressure, deadlines looming. It presses its weight into my sternum until it feels like something inside me is splintering under the pressure. This isn’t how the festive season should be. But my trauma flickers behind every task. Old memories threatening to swallow me whole. It feels like a last minute vegan funeral, not a feel good Christmas. Where my mind stutters, broken into a million pieces. I forget what I touched, where I stood. My mind is all over the place. This year feels too heavy to carry. I’ve been struggling the most since September. Recovering from being robbed, and assaulted. My foster mum having cancer. But she’s cancer free now, thank goodness. Being in and out of the hospital. Constant testing for my physical and mental health. Struggling to sleep, someone standing on my windpipe. Being tested for autism and ADHD. Not knowing whether the results will save me or unmake me. My mind is whirling. There’s more, this dosen’t even scratch the surface. Scared about my hospital treatments later this month. Will it work? Christmas is meant to be about tinsel and glitter. Not trauma and hospital stays.

And then, impossibly without reason, Santa appears on a video call. He looks at me as though he can see everything. The tremors, the fear, the exhaustion. He dosen’t tell me that I’m not going to make it. That life won’t get better. He tells me ‘you will get through this. Christmas won’t abandon you this time’. I wipe away my fresh tears, my red eyes stinging. For once, I feel like he might be right. His certainty lodging in me like an ember. Gathering the scraps of my strength, reframing my negative thoughts. I start seeing the good in a last minute vegan Christmas. Learning to go with the flow. To let each day hold my hand, and guide me through surprises that no longer terrify me. I build a gift guide for people like me. Neurodiverse, vegan, who struggle with organisation, pressure and deadlines. Who get overwhelmed easily, who feel undone. The ones who lose days to brain fog. Who put off things because they are scared of failure. But in this space, there is comfort. Finding last minute vegan gift ideas for a stress-free festive season. Chilli oil that is molten red like lava. Drizzled over a vegan four cheese pizza, stonebaked in the oven. Garlic bread drenched in plant-based butter. A glass of sparkling non-alcoholic rose, I take a sip. For those who are sober like me. Who are on medication, and cannot drink.

I wipe the sauce from my chin and lips. Go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Lavender shower gel clinging to the steam. Threading itself through my breathing, unravelling the night’s tight knots. Breathe in, breathe out. I  splash cold water in the mirror. Massage Body Cream into my dry, stressed skin. It feels like manna, dry skin peeling under my fingertips. Skincare for eczema, because winter bites hardest at softness. Prep my chapped lips, swipe vegan nude lip gloss like subtle armour. A far cry from my usual pillarbox red or fuschia pink. That feels more like a battle cry, than this beige fantasy. I grab a protein bar for the road. In case the inky night stretches into tepid morning. The promise of rain on the horizon, I need energy. Cookies and cream, it dances on my tongue. A rush of adrenaline, I feel so alive. Small offerings, simple lifelines for the ones fighting unseen battles. And in the candle’s thin glow, I let myself believe—not in perfection, but in survival. In a Christmas stitched together at the last minute, dark, trembling—and still, somehow, enough. Forget the trauma, the loss, and constant appointments. Instead, I see this Christmas as a chance to redefine. To reimagine. To relive once more. From mouthwatering vegan food and drink, to beauty and entertainment, this last minute vegan Christmas wasn’t rushed.

Must Have Beauty Xmas Gifts

Menteath Smoke Infused Skincare Collection

I don’t remember the last time my mind was quiet. The voices in my head gnawing at my brain, until i’m left blank. Anxiety like spiders crawling onto my mottled skin. Leeches sucking at my lifeforce draining me of all energy. I have two phases: a high level of adrenaline running through my body. Constantly moving, my brain overactive. Unable to sit still and relax. Getting triggered by trying to get myself calm. Loud noises frightening me. Feeling like I am bouncing off the walls, and can’t stop myself from moving. The other, the one who has burnt the candle at both ends. Sluggish, depressed, like my soul has been taken over by a sloth. Disassociating, barely aware of what I am doing and why. It affects me mind, body and soul. My anxiety builds lists, in perfect suffocating order. But something else, maybe ADHD loses the list. Rewrites it on a tea-stained receipt and drops it. Waking up, pulse racing at 3AM. Reorganizing a draw, I swear I never meant to open. My skin an exhausted mess. Dark charcoal smudges under my eyes. Hyperpigmentation. Breakouts and redness cloaking my forehead and cheeks. It feels tight and dry. Wrinkles i’d never seen before punctuating my skin. I don’t feel grounded. Torn up inside and out. Like i’m solving a puzzle that can never be solved. But the last minute vegan Christmas has an answer I never saw coming. Neuro vegan natural skincare from Menteath. Revitalizing fatigued and tense skin, with smoke infused magic. Drawing from the Sudanese female smoke bathing ritual of Dukham. Honouring the elements: earth to nourish the skin and spirit. Air to clear the mind. Fire to protect and empower. Water to soothe and renew. I gaze in the mirror. The sound of meditation music drifting in the background. I rub Dusk Wood Facial Oil into my tired skin. The scent of flowers dancing with warm smoke and sorched herbs. It glides into my skin with ease, a silky radiant finish worn under makeup. Skin that was once dull gaining back its Christmas magic. Infused with primrose oil softening fine lines and fatigue. My other favourite product? Smoked Bay Ritual, I use it as a bath oil. Smoked bay laurel, with warm herbal undertones. Sinking into the watery folds of the bath. Grounding from head to toe, to restore balance and energy.

Prices:

Loch Blossom Facial Cleanser 100ml £40

Dusk Wood Facial Oil £70

Smoked Bay Body Ritual £60

 

Discovery Collection £30

Orchy Path Aromatic Facial Cleanser 5ml

Wild Path Body Ritual 5ML

Scorched Earth Facial Oil 5ML

 

Organic Works Lavender Shower Gel Refill Pouch 

I turn the shower on too hot—on purpose. Let it scald my skin, until its mottled with red. Like Christmas has carved its weight into me, tight and breathless. I need the heat to loosen, what last month has wired shut. The steam gets thicker, I make it my confession booth. The first sob comes quietly, a thin crack in the throat. As though even my grief is afraid to take space. Then another. Then the flood. The water hides nothing, but for once I don’t push it down. I allow myself to fall apart. To remember that I am safe here in the scent of lavender and heat. To let the feelings wash over me, to let worry spill into the drain. Beside me,
the Organic Works lavender shower gel refill pouch leans against the tiles. I squeeze it, as though to remind myself that not everything has to hurt. Lavender and geranium, sharp as memory. Bringing back the memories of a friend I had since I was 5 years old. Who died in 2020, forever 26. I see her hands in the dirt planting seeds with a patience I never learned. Her golden hair spilling over her shoulders running through her favourite lavender fields. The vegetable garden she nursed, even as illness stole her dignity. I lather the gel into my palms. It’s soft and cooling. A contrast to the burning water, it slows my breathing. Lavender for calm, for grounding. Anchoring me back to the present. It is kind to my sensitive skin. No breakouts or spots, even though my skincare is normally unscented. Soothing redness and inflammation with natural vegan essential oils. It doesn’t fix anything. But in its quiet way, it steadies me—alive with grief instead of numb beneath it.

Price: £22 (500ml)

 

Beauty And Bains Lipgloss Oil Collection 

I fell in love with makeup in the dim, flickering light of my uni bathroom. A place that smelt faintly of mould and alcohol. My own reflection glared back to me, half-formed, unclaimed. Scraggly gappy brows undefined. Red uneven skin, across my cheeks and forehead. A chin dancing with spots that needed popping. Breakouts from stress and sleepless nights. I powdered cheeks with sparkly blush that irritated my skin. And the eyes? The worst of all, dark green eyeshadow stretched up to my eyebrow. Thick eyeliner that hid my hooded eyelids. I looked like a clown who had been dragged through an enchanted forest. But despite this, I didn’t care. For in the grotesque alchemy, I felt my heart racing. Discovering something new that made me smile. Even when life was throwing more curveballs than I could handle to catch. Makeup was a spell, even when I cast it badly. I wandered through eras, and got better. Learned how to contour and sculpt my cheeks. Sunset reds mixed with gold on my lids. Thin cat-eye liner like the outline of a coffin lid. Deep rouge lips, brown stains like dried blood. Now? My face is quieter, no eyeshadow. Defined brows and a sweep of mascara. Foundation dancing with highlighter. Red lips burning against olive skin. And tonight after yet another hospital visit, I reclaim the silence. My body stitched with exhaustion, as I reach for my Beauty & Bains  vegan lip glosses. Beautiful stocking fillers for a last minute vegan Christmas. Conjuring soft, subtle looks as Christmas night thickens around me. Light Cocoa, infused with coconut oil, argan oil and shea butter. Soft on my lips, as I paint bronze shadows on my eyelids. Cheeks with a pop of bronzed brown, like spiced mulled cider. Nude, on skin laced with a glowy primer, barely there. Taupe shadow smudged hollow into the eye crease. A hint of champagne shimmer on the nose. But my favourite? Sunset Pink. Sheer gloss infused with Vitamin E, natural ginger and capsicum. My lips slightly plumped. Cold bitten cheeks, sepia lids swathed in rosy pink. Pale pink on the cheeks.

Price: £11.99 each ( Light Cocoa, Nude & Sunset Pink)

 

Skin Porter Travel Kit 

We made the long journey down to his family’s home. The rain tip-tapping at the train window, chugging down the track. Head in hands, weekender bags on the floor. Clothes for an early Christmas weekend, with gifts for all the family. Bags heavier than they realized, hoisted onto sore shoulders. Normally, i’d have skincare, and makeup that needed its own seperate bag. But not this time, no space for last minute vegan Christmas treats.  No moisturiser, and melting balm. No primer and under eye cream, no spot remover. But I had something that was better. Skin Porter’s multi-action facial express travel kit that was vegan too. A single-use, pro-grade treatment designed for on-the-go skin revival. It was small but mighty. Time wasn’t on my side, but I hoped it would work. And it did, a 3-in-1 solution that would replace my exfoliator, peel and serum in one targeted dose. It claimed to extract impurities, improve texture and boost hydration in less than 30 minutes. But was this realistic? I went to the bathroom and splashed ice cold water on my face. Drying it with a mini towel. Opened the glass ampoule and poured it into the peptide gelling solution. Still an hour left of my journey. The carriages filled with people travelling down for Christmas. I held the tub, stirring it with a tiny brush. Brushing under my eyes, on my neck, face and hands. My dull, red skin brighter and more visibly radiant in such a short amount of time. Redness reduced, my skin feeling less irritated by the minute. A vegan Christmas miracle that my heart sing.

Price: £17

 

DR DILLY Skin Barrier Bundle 

When I was young, winter found me first. Not in the snowdrifts or the frost bitten air. But on my arms and elbows, raw constellations of red that burned. I tried not to itch. Knew I would make it worse, but the mental game was too strong. Clawing at my skin, as though December had a secret that I couldn’t work out. I learned early on that Christmas lights look brighter when your skin is breaking. Tiny flares illuminating sleeves glued to scabs. Jumpers rubbing on skin like tangled barbed wire. Festive cheer felt grating when I couldn’t wear the clothes I loved. So I tried cold cloths and thick creams. Oils that promised miracles. Sleeves to hide the raw geography that my body insisted on drawing. But then, as if by magic, puberty hit. My skin free from eczema. I won the war against its militant grip. I thought i’d outgrown winter’s cruelty, but it came back. In an area I least expected. Somewhere private, noone else could see. Dry, cracked lace. Open wounds like Santa’s nose. Redness that I try and soothe with medicated creams. I thought it was hopeless, but DR Dilly had other plans. A skin rejuvanation bundle that would stop the sting of sitting too long. Psorias too, grey-silver scales that were itchy and painful. A call from DR DILLY, who promised me that the  last minute vegan Christmas wasn’t over yet. Skin Barrier Rejuvenation Body Cream, with 99.7% natural ingredients. My favourite of the two, it felt hydrating and nourishing. My scaly patches reduced. The inflammation gone down. Slightly less redness. A natural fragrance that felt like manna. The Skin Barrier Rejuvenation body wash, free from steroids. Letting the showerhead rain on my itchy skin. The wash gentle, and hydrating.

Price: £162 (for the set) £162 instead of £21

 

ST Tropez Cherry Macaroon Kit

I tried it once, fake tan. Watching my Foster Mum painting warmth over winter’s corpse. Amber glow blooming while the world outside splintered under frost. Christmas lights flickering cold and trembling. Catching on her shins like they’ve found something still alive. I sneaked in when she went out. Grabbed the bottle and the mitt. It smelled like biscuits and cocoa. Slathered it on my arm without technique. It mottled into orange. My foster mum horrified when she found out. I never touched it again… until now.  ST Tropez’s Cherry Macaroon kit, luring me into its amber web. I learned from my mistakes. Exfoliated and prepped my skin, waning under winter’s cruelty. I grabbed the pink mitt, and buffed the tan over my face and body. Manufacturing sunlight in a bottle made out of joy.  The tan settled overnight. The ghost of a summer I didn’t get to experience burned into my skin. The world outside peeling and pale. But I shine. A counterfeit sun in a season of decay. I finish the last minute vegan Christmas ritual with something special.  A hair and body fragrance mist that smelled like macaroons. Fuschia pink bottle sweet as deception. It smelt like spring. Cherry and white florals, sprinkled with warm vanilla. Not sugared rot that clings like memory. Not something too pretty to be real. I walk through the rain. Bronzed for a blizzard that threatens the sky. Telling myself that if the world insists on freezing, i’ll fake the warmth myself.

Price: £40, £24 in Boots on offer.

Mouthwatering Vegan Food & Drink

 

Vegan Food

Banhoek Chilli Oil Trio 

The flat is cold. I hear the pipes rattling like bones in the walls. But me? I cook to stay alive.  Rub my hands together, as I open the oven. Let the heat suffuse my cheeks in a ruddy warmth. The heating is broken, I wait for the repair man. Dancing around the open plan living room. Hoping that the skies outside will brighten up. Rain splattering across my windows like violence. I reach for Banhoek’s Chilli Oil Trio Gift Set. Original, Garlic, and Asian. Red liquid molten gold next to Christmas beige. Made in South Africa, in the Cape Floral Kingdom. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, with fynbos vegetation. Home to rooibos tea, and world class wines. I open the box gingerly, the rain slowing to a halt. The original catching my eye. Pour it over crispy potatoes; they hiss, blister and surrender. The scent holy, smoke clawing at the back of my throat. I throw in parsley, and dried chillis too. Spring onions, a splash of salt and pepper. Vegan chicken marinated in garlic. Rice laced with briny artichokes, sundried tomatoes too. Outside the snow starts falling like ash. A reminder to turn up the heat. Garlic chilli oil bleeding across the cutting board. Cloves and heat rising like a curse. I slick it over blackened sprouts, let it pool in the vegan lamb’s cracks. The edges of a last minute vegan Christmas edging nearer. I conjure up a port gravy like my Aunty used to make. Soak kale in lemon, tart against the heat. But it is the Asian chilli oil that steals my heart. Star anise laced secrets, slipping into udon noodles. Staining it a hungry red, my mouth waters. Airfry tofu, plunge it into a chilli, lime and garlic sauce. Carrots sliced into ribbons. White cabbage shredded into pieces. An offering to everything that winter tried to kill. I eat until my lips ache. Skin flushed, hands slicked with oil and temptation. I worship the flames. I don’t want to perish under a sky bruised with snow. The bottles sitting amongst tinsel and bones. While I find a Christmas ritual of smoke and bite. A winter star burning through the dark.

Price: £25.62 via The Savanna

 

Rodeo Christmas Doughnuts

My chest tightens, the walls closing in. The world outside ice and noise. My ears ringing, as lights blur into mocking stars. The panic squeezing my throat with the paws of a winter wolf. My fingers shake, my breath shallow. I feel my back clenching, my shoulders tensing. The cold curling around my spin like a rusty blade. I try to speak but the words are feathers. Snatched from the throat of a crow. I am trapped in the coil of my own mind. A last minute vegan Christmas with no end in sight. The panic tastes like metal. Sitting in rooms I can’t leave. Hearing doors slamming in memory. Demons lurking in the shadows that frighten me. But hope comes when I least expect it. A box landing on the table with a soft thud. Open the lid, and breathe in its aroma. Rodeo’s Vegan Christmas box, trying to take the pain away. Gingy, I bite back tears. At the nostalgia of a gingerbread man doughut that reminds me of my Dad. Red glaze dripping over green. Jelly Tots drowning in a sea of buttercream. I bite, spice that tastes like revolt. Against the anxiety that tries to rob me of Christmas spirit. I tune out the noise. Miss American Pie, sticky-sweet. Apple and caramel glaze cracked like old skin. Then David Bowie, what an icon. Vanilla glaze with festve sprinkles. A red fondant bow stained with glitter. But my favourite? Tom Ho Ho Holland. Cherry and black glaze. A chocolate belt buckle that tasted like mischief in a candlelight crypt. Let It Dough a close favourite. Blueberry glaze sparkling with edible frost. Crumbs like broken stars slipping through my fingers. A reminder that sweetness exists even when I cannot. I finish with All Good In The Pud, caramel bleeding through chocolate. Vanilla and holly-leaf stabbing the dark.

Price: £12.99 for the Variety Box

 

Playin Choc

It was hard to remember a time where I didn’t eat meat. Disgusted by animal flesh and what it meant to consume it. But I used to eat meat and fish. Wake up to grease on my fingers. Salt pressed into my skin. I used to lick the edge of a bone clean and called it dinner. The kitchen smelt like fat and fire. Every meal a reminder that an animal I loved died for me to eat. I didn’t think about the sound of knives or the silence that followed. I had the easy pleasure of not knowing. I was 10, when I was first exposed to animal cruelty. A pig squealing, begging to be saved. Its cries ringing in my ears, years after i’d seen it. But it took 7 more years for me to become vegetarian. A feat I kept up for 15 years. No meat, no fish. For the last few years veganism was on my mind. But I was afraid of something cleaner, too afraid to step through. A few months ago, I did it, without ceremony. It was easier than going veggie. But there were two cravings that felt impossible to shift: cheese and chocolate. Remembering blue cheese slathered on vegan beef burgers. Parmesan grated, on a veggie carbonara. Chocolate ate by the dozen. Kinder buenos, creamy hazelnut. Ferrero Rocher’s that melted in my mouth. I was learning to adapt to a vegan lifestyle. Stumbling across PlayIn Choc, a vegan chocolate brand I’d once loved and forgotten. Nut-free, gluten-free, and plastic free. Free from 14 allergens, vegan chocolates for adults and kids too. Toy boxes, award winning choccies. Peruvian Cacao Mlk laced with creamed coconut. I break off a slab, let it melt like dusk on my tongue. I eat it slowly, like i’m learning restraint. My fingers stained with creamy brown. Cacao Dark, sharp-edged and grown-up. Bitterness with a hint of coconut. It felt like a last minute vegan Christmas treat that would take me out of my anxious spiral. A reminder that change dosen’t have to taste like sacrifice.

Price: £4.99 per 60g

 

Squeaky Bean Salmon Style Flakes 

The kitchen glows in half-sepia light. December pressing its frost-bit breath against the windows. Where carols bleed through walls I never invited them into. I heat up the pan, garlic hissing like a warning. Vegan rosemary butter sizzling in extra virgin olive oil. Mix up oat cream, thick as snowfall. Slowly melting into something obsene. Black pepper falling like ash, a hint of herb sea salt. I open the packet of Squeaky Bean sweet chilli salmon style flakes. Reddish pink, a colour too alive for muted winter. Pinked like embers dragged from a dying fire. They hit the pan and soften, sweet heat blooming. Chilli sugar in fermented smoke. A whisper of the sea that never belonged to Christmas but came anyway. I scrape lemon rinds, watch them curl into creamy sauce. Like pale ghosts of citrus past. Scatter dill, watch the lingune bubble and toil. Long ribbons tangled like old tinsel, dragged from boxes I’d sworn i’d thrown away. Sinks into the velvety folds of cream like comfort. I stir slowly, letting the last minute vegan Christmas wash over me like joy. It wasn’t a roast, sure. But I wanted something comforting, and indulgent. A hot meal, with something new. The sweet chilli serenading lemon cream like manna. I burn my mouth in my hunger, but the scalding is worth it. Sweet, savoury, salty, creamy. A pasta dish that tastes like sin. My partner helps himself to a bowl. Ladling thick pasta on a chilli-slicked night. High in protein and Omega 3. We feel the energy surge through us, a lease of life. Wrapping presents ten to the dozen, bellies pooched.

Price: £3.25 at Sainsbury’s

Vegan Drink

Bolle Non Alcoholic Collection

It was twelve black moons since my last communion. The last heavy sigh against my winter-chapped lips. I’d pop the cork, that echoed like requiem. Blood-red drained into a glass. Now I take my medication and drink peppermint tea. The nights stretched long and barren without crimson comfort. I mourned the blush of rose like a lost lover: its soft light through crystal. I saw Christmas lights- dull  scars upon the dark. They twinkle overhead, mocking without a glass to lift. Mince pies turned hollow without that soft slur of wine to anchor the soul. Sleep came in sharpened shards, dreams dripping with old regrets and empty bottles. I’d wandered through memory’s vineyards. Each grape, a ghost pressing cold against my ribs. At the table i’d watch people drink wine. Their laughter high and brittle. I sat silent, hoping to taste the burn of mercy once more. I discovered two brands, Wildlife Botanicals, and Bolle. I reach for the latter. Non-Alcoholic sparkling rose first. A trembling glass of pale pink promise. I watch the bubbles rip through rose like silver tears. My senses light up. White strawberry, red berries and black current. The breath of violet, a hint of fresh herbs. Dry, fresh, not too sweet. Red berries lingering on my tongue, delicate herbal notes. The world’s only twice-fermented non-alcoholic wine. The highest rated non-alcoholic wine in history. But the Bolle Grand Reserve? Unlike anything else I had ever tried before. The world’s first and only lees-aged non-alcoholic wine. A wine that took nine months to make. It showed.  A sparkling wine with fine and delicate bubbles. An elegant brioche bouquet, notes of apricot, nuts and a hint of citrus. Vibrant acidity, with a creamy texture. Elegance with a lingering finish. This Christmas under wreaths of pine and candle-wax drips, I danced. In darker hours that sharpen the senses, to the quiet that beomes something sacred.

Price: £4 per can

 

Sylva Orchard Non-Alcoholic Aged Spirit 

I remember the time I tried whisky. The Jack Daniels flame like wildfire in my veins. Me and a friend drinking it mixed with caffeine-free coke. But still it wasn’t enough to stop tearing through reason like a wolf. How the amber lie curled around my tongue and whispered promises I couldn’t keep. I stayed way past curfew, caught in its smoky haze. My foster mum at home waiting by the door. Thinking something awful had happened to me. I came, staggering back, words slurring. Barely remembering what I said and done. Her barbed words lashing out at me, her eyes rimmed with sunrise. It felt like a waking nightmare. She stayed awake for me, her heart pounding like a hammer against a coffin lid. When I finally crawled home, eyes like dead stars, she saw the ruin in my hands. Grounded, I felt angry at the time. Frustrated that she was so strict, when my friend’s parents were so relaxed. My phone taken away, I wasn’t allowed to go out. Straight home after school. I didn’t even like the taste. Fast forward to the present. A year sober, on medication where I can’t drink. I never went back for whisky’s amber bite. Until now. A chance non-alcoholic and low-alcohol showcase, opening my eyes. Introducing me to Sylva Orchard’s dark spirit. Reminders of orchard wind and charred wood. I sipped slowly, surprised I liked it. Feeling the ghost of whisky warmth fade. Replaced by orchard smoke and ripe autumn fruit. A haunting that didn’t rot the mind but captivated. On the nose, ripe red cherries waltzed with stewed plums. Warm notes of toasted malt, with hints of a Bakewell Tart. But on the palette? Juicy fruits, smoked and tangled. Serenading velvety malt, a hint of caramel. A finishing note of cherry blossom, that reminds me of spring. No alcohol, yet it carries the soul of a dark spirit. Like dusk at the edge of autumn. Longer nights drifting. I face the shadows of memory, without being devoured by them. In the orchard of ash and dark, I found a glass that did not burn. A spirit that tasted not of loss, but of what remains when the fire goes out.

Price: £40 for 50cl

 

Sentia Spirits Functional Non-Alcoholic Drinks 

I am not calm. My nervous system lives like an animal caught between fight or flight. Canines bared, a heart locked in a permenant drill. Every second arrives already screaming. Every thought ends in a threat that isn’t real. GABA is meant to be the god of Sedation. The chemical coffin nail, the quieting hand over the mouth of panic. But mine is a rumour. A shadow of a shadow arriving late with excuses. Anxiety sharpening knives in my chest. I thought GABA was supposed to slow down the conversation. To make me calm, and unwind. Those constant racing thoughts, a dull sensation at the back of my brain. On a day laced with never-ending panic, I find something magical. A drink that slowed down the pace, and cradled my mind with warmth. That made me feel buzzed in a way that didn’t feel like I was clawing at imaginary walls. I loaded up on vegan turkey, thick roasties swamped in gravy. But it is the mocktail that takes my breath away. Sentia Marghertia dancing with GABA gold. The rim lined with salt, a hint of chilli. A vibrant citrus sensation bursts on my tongue. A warm spicy finish that feels like home. Ashwagandha slicked with Siberian Gingseng. A hint of berry and lemon balm. I feel warmth suffuse my cheeks. My mood slightly lifted. I crave to try their other functional drinks. Dreaming up a last minute vegan Christmas, without anxiety and fear. GABA Red, my personal favourite. Coiling through my glass like the Scarlett Witch. My limbs slacken, my eyes glaze. My mind dissolves at the edges, thoughts slipping into a blood-red syrup. Bittersweet berries lingering on my tongue. Ashwagandha and passionflower for a relaxing nightcap. Three cats curled around my feet as I drink. GABA Black to finish, a restraint againt the screaming that never stops. Buried alive, waiting for its next strike. Spiced pepper with a smoky bitter finish. Energy coursing through my veins, without the crash. Star anise wrapped around cinnamon. Gingseng flirting with Schisandra berry. For a few stolen minutes, I let myself rot in the quiet. A body held together by neurotransmitters.

Price: £76.80 instead of £96 for Gaba Gold, Gaba Red & Gaba Black set.

Vegan Entertainment

Winesmash Walkerbay 2 Player Box 

I gave him the Walker Bay vegan wine box. In collaboration with Wine Smash, a game and a tasting. He crinkled his nose at the six 100ml sachets laid out like evidence. He had always been made out of cider. Fermented apples, it tasted like home.  Wine was never his thing, too bitter, too serious. Too many people telling him what to taste. He held onto familarity, and for years he didn’t try anything else. But this last minute vegan Christmas, he told me he wanted to try something else. So we turned it into a game. I switched the fairy lights on the tree. Hung the tinsel, put on the Christmas music he pretended to hate. We downloaded the app, the wine tasting guide open. I tied a blindfold around his eyes so he couldn’t see the colour he was drinking. I poured, he tasted. Inside, a single sheet waited. Each wine listed. Region and character revealed. Two pink spots caressed his cheeks. I found mine warming in return. He’d prepared me a non-alcoholic selection, so I could play too. Reds and whites that didn’t muddle my brain. We took turns being blindfolded. No names, no prices. Just lingering notes flirting with our tongues. Acid, fruit, weight and finish. I scored mine too, using the app’s guide for reference. Guessed prices I couldn’t taste. Structure without the alcohol. Grape without the burn. On his end? His favourite was the Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. Rich lime zest, peach and tropical fruit notes. A complex yet crisp white wine. We entered everything into the app. Scores, price guesses. Bonus points tallied automatically. He stopped bracing. South African reds he didn’t expect to love. Whites that stayed longer than cider ever did. We scored each pillar of taste between 1-5. He won, by a margin. A last minute vegan Christmas date. Quiet, contained, two people tasting in the dark. Learning that sometimes liking something new is just removing the label, and letting it speak first.

Price: £29.99 for Walkers Bay Box

Tulley’s Christmas Light Festival

I come back to Tulley’s two months later. The fields shaking off their autumnal clothes. Where pumpkins once sat heavy on damp soil. Orange moons waiting to be chosen. There are Christmas lights now. Fire and Ice, shooting reds and blues. Threaded through hedges and trees like veins warming back up. Last time I was here, the air smelled of earth and rot. Of straw under boots, October slipping into winter’s decay. Tonight is softer, I dance in tunnels of colour breathing as I walk through. Arches pulsing blue, gold and violet. The hum of music tickling my reddened ears. The Enchanted Forest steals my heart. Reflections trembling on water. Glowing trees and mystical creatures. Fairy magic embalming me in joy. But Let It Snow? It felt like childhood nostalgia. Snow that never melted, kissing calloused palms. Frost sparkling on every branch. Me and my partner walk through Love Lane. Hanging lanterns illuminating stolen kisses. A pink twinkling heart, for those who believed in the magic of love. We walk past families roasting marshmallows. Melted into something sticky and sweet. Watching laughter move past us in scarves and coats. Into the VIP Apres Club we go. A heated tipi, lounging in soft, cozy chairs. We take a break from the crowds. Sipping on non-alcoholic mocktails with a smile. We come out in a blurry haze, the wind whipping our cheek. Past the Gingerbread Windmill floating on a lake. A scene straight from a Christmas storybook. I hum along to the live music. The dulcet tones of the guitar and velvet voices shaking away the last threads of anxiety. We sit here a while with vegan hot chocolate, thick and rich. The Wynterfolk passing by. Shimmering winter spirits wandering the Land of Light with gentle mischief. The pumpkins are gone. Harvest replaced by light. Darkness answered rather than feared. But there is an overwhelming simularity. Both filling us with joy. The kind of happiness that lingers long after you go.

Price: £49.50 ( with VIP Apres Club)

What’s On Your Last Minute Vegan Christmas Wishlist? 

*Disclaimer 

Please note this is a collaborative post but all thoughts are my own and are not affected by gifting. I would love to know what you would put in your last minute vegan Christmas guide?