Sixteen prints, and you choose yours by name

This is not one basket in a colour or two. There are sixteen floral prints in the collection, each with its own name, and they are proper florals, the kind you would happily have on a curtain. Mine are the Willowrove, a deep inky botanical that looks like something out of an old country house, and the Rosehaven, all blush pink and soft cream roses. The one on the cake stall was the Noirbloom, big roses on near black, and I have not stopped thinking about it, which is how I know a third is coming. Choosing which print goes in which room is a small pleasure I did not expect storage to ever give me.

The Willowrove on my dressing table. The first thing in that corner I have ever been pleased to look at.

The clutter finally has somewhere to go

Every house has its drift. The hair things, the hand creams, the reading glasses, the pens that gather by the phone, the odds and ends that migrate across every surface no matter how often you sweep them up. What these baskets do is give all of that one settled home per room. Everything is stood up together, easy to see and easy to reach, and the surface around the basket stays clear. It sounds like a small thing. It changes how a whole room looks by teatime.

Rolled flannels in the dark rose one. The airing cupboard has never once looked this presentable.

It is small enough to sit anywhere

I want to be honest about the size, because it matters. These are compact little baskets, about the length of a hardback book, and that is precisely the point. This is not a laundry hamper. It sits on a dressing table, a bathroom shelf, a bedside table, a windowsill, the corner of a desk, without taking the surface over. The shape is neat and boxy and it stands up properly on its own, corners where corners should be, instead of slumping like a soft bag.

Two soft handles, so the whole lot moves with you

Each basket has two padded carry handles, and that turns out to be the detail I use most. The sewing things come to the armchair and go back in one trip. The polish and cloths travel round the house on a Saturday morning and nothing is carried in armfuls or dropped on the stairs. When the woman at the fair packed up her stall, she picked the whole basket up by the handles, tickets and all, and that was the moment I understood it. It is storage you carry, not storage you shove in a cupboard.

It is quilted and soft, and it feels as nice as it looks

The whole basket is softly quilted, stitched into neat padded squares, right up and over the handles, and it is lined with a floral print inside as well, so it is pretty even standing empty with the lid of nothing on it. It feels gentle to pick up, nothing rattles or scrapes in it, and it does not scratch a polished surface the way a wicker basket or a plastic tub does. Brian said it looked like something my mother would have kept her sewing in, and he meant it kindly, and he is right.

The blush one on laundry duty. Softer on the shelf, softer on the eye.

At this price, one becomes three

Every basket in the collection is the same price, £24.95, whichever print you choose, and that does something to you. You order one to try. Then the bathroom looks bare next to the bedroom, so a second follows, and then you find yourself choosing a print for your sister because her birthday is coming and this is the easiest present you have found in years. The woman at the fair owned three. I own three. I would put money on you not stopping at one either.

The midnight rose one, third and latest, on Brian’s side of the bed no less. He chose the print himself.