Mrs M: The art of creating comfort

I’m not sure if it’s my age or the time of year - it is, after all, still a little chilly - but I have been all about comfort of late. I raised this with Mr M, who rightly pointed out he has always been a fan of comfort over pretty much anything else. It is, he assures me, why he hates new jackets or shoes.

None will ever offer the levels of comfort that older, lived-in versions do. He also tells me it is why he is always rather shocked to hear of friends going through a divorce. “Imagine the horror of having to get used to someone new,” he says, going pale at the mere idea. I have decided to take this as a compliment.

I know there are all sorts of terribly fashionable Nordic customs that centre around comfort, but I like to think of it as a fundamentally English concept.

I firmly believe we are a nation that excels at the art of comfort. There is our ability to conjure up a lovely pot of tea just at the right moment, our dogged devotion to log fires, and our uncanny talent for finding the softest chair. Comfort is stitched in to the very fabric of our national identity.

I like to think I have a bit of a penchant for comfort.

After all, one does not survive drizzly childhood winters, nor a boarding school with an inadequate boiler, without developing a finely honed sense of what truly makes one feel at ease. Comfort, you see, is both an art and a science, and it is high time we all gave it the attention it deserves.

Comfort should begin at home. To my mind, there is no greater luxury than a home that feels, well, homey. A roaring fire is, of course, non-negotiable.

As is an Aga in the kitchen. That way one can always find a warm spot on even the chilliest of days. I have nothing against central heating - except for its utter lack of charm - and, of course I know it’s an absolute essential, but a flickering flame or a cast-iron range cooker radiating heat throughout the day is a must-have for me. They provide warmth, yes, but also a sort of primal reassurance that everything will be all right. It’s impossible to feel miserable when gazing into a fire or warming one’s bottom against the Aga.

It simply cannot happen.

Cushions and throws are also must-haves if comfort is the aim. The trick is to layer them. An armchair with a single sad cushion is as disappointing as an unbuttered crumpet. My sofas resemble something of a cloud formation, with so many cushions and blankets that one could quite easily get lost in them.

And why not? A sofa, after all, is for sprawling. Mr M though, draws the line at too many cushions on the bed. One of his real bugbears is hotels where one has to remove 10 cushions before one can climb into bed.

He also hates it when confronting one of those throws that covers only the foot of the bed. If I had a pound for every time he has sadly shaken his head and muttered ‘why?’ when contemplating such an arrangement I would be a very rich woman indeed.

There is perhaps no greater comfort for me than lazing in a hot, scented bath. I am not a fan of showers.

I really don’t see the point of them, except perhaps when one is on holiday. I’m rather evangelical about baths. It is a ritual, a retreat, a moment of pure indulgence. Proper bath water should be almost unbearably hot, so that one emerges pink as a lobster.

And one must never, ever bathe with the overhead light on. Candles or one of those brilliant rechargeable lamps are the answer. As for bath oil, it should be something decadent, perhaps with notes of rose or sandalwood. And, of course, a small tray for a book and, if it has been a particularly trying day, a large glass of Pinot Grigio.

Comfort isn’t just about the physical; there is also the kind of comfort that warms the soul. It is equally important, if not more so. It can be best found in life’s small rituals. They anchor us. Take, for example, the ritual of making a mug of cocoa. There is something so gloriously grounding about the act of melting the chocolate and warming or steaming the milk. It’s an alchemy that produces far more than a drink. It provides solace.

One cannot contemplate comfort without thinking about food. Mr M pities the poor souls who shun carbohydrates. How do they console themselves in times of trouble? In his mind a bowl of buttery mashed potatoes really does lift the spirit. As does a proper shepherd’s pie or an indulgent sticky toffee pudding.

It need not be a grand offering. Even a humble slice of toast with lashings of butter can transport one back to the nursery and make one feel truly cosseted. Comfort food is as much about the memories it conjures as the taste. A treacle tart, for instance, always takes me back to my grandmother’s kitchen.

And then there is the comfort of solitude, something Mr M is a huge fan of. For him, this often means a long walk in the countryside. There is something so restorative about the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, surrounded by trees and sky and birdsong. I have over the years come to agree with him on this. A walk is marvellous, even in the rain.

Especially in the rain, actually. It’s the perfect excuse to wear a fabulous coat and sturdy boots and to reward oneself with tea and cake when finally back indoors in the warm.

Comfort, ultimately, then is about knowing oneself. It’s about understanding what soothes one, what delights one, what makes one feel safe and happy. For some, it might be a night at the ballet. For others, binge-watching old episodes of some marvellous Agatha Christie drama.

I do worry sometimes that in our frenetic modern world we have lost sight of the importance of comfort.

We’re so busy chasing perfection that we have forgotten how to simply be. So, I urge us all to embrace comfort with all the gusto of a Labrador sniffing out a biscuit. We should slip into silk pyjamas and fluffy slippers and munch on absurdly expensive chocolate. Life is far too short to skimp on comfort.

Comfort enhancers

Mrs M shares ideas for cosseting recipes, mood-boosting breaks and a luxurious sofa to sink into.

Cocoon and relax

If seeking the perfect super-comfortable escape, then I implore you to consider Estelle Manor (above). This marvellous hotel and country club offers the ideal place to spend a luxuriously cosseting weekend. Nestled in serene surroundings, its elegant interiors, plush rooms, indulgent spa treatments, and amazing food are perfect for some peace and tranquillity. The service is second to none and the atmosphere is decidedly unstuffy.

Simple sustenance

For lovers of no-nonsense comfort food, Country Comfort by Hari Beavis is filled with 90 beautifully illustrated recipes for wholesome, hearty and delicious meals that are quick and easy to make. Perfect when seeking something to eat that is warming or consoling. Each chapter is organised by the time the dish takes to make and there are some amazing 10-minute options.

With those who have a little more time on their hands there is also a baking section for extra-special treats.

Buy here

Sumptuous softness

I can safely say I have never encountered anything quite as comfortable as a Maker & Son sofa. Even looking at one of its exquisitely squishy sofas makes me feel relaxed. Handmade using local materials, each one comes with machine-washable covers, which means there is no need to be too precious about letting the dog climb up, and a 30-year guarantee on the hardwood frames.

Available in a host of gorgeous colours, a Maker & Son sofa or chair is the cosy addition every home needs.

Discover more of the best sofas for further inspiration.