For Tidier Recycling, Quieter Notes and Less Desk-Clutter | Vol. 3

Recycling has become one of those domestic jobs that ought to be simple, yet somehow ends with a cardboard box balanced on the floor, food scraps in a mystery tub and a regular bin that is mostly takeaway packaging. The Joseph Joseph Totem Max takes that familiar mess seriously enough to give it a single 60-litre address.

This Stone version combines two 30-litre compartments with a removable 3-litre food-waste caddy. The appeal is not glamorous, unless your idea of glamour involves knowing exactly where the tin cans go, but it is unusually complete. We think that matters: a bin that handles only one stream of household detritus merely creates another object to trip over.

At 39 cm wide and 36.6 cm deep, the Totem Max asks for a deliberate patch of kitchen floor. It is also 81.4 cm high shut and reaches 111 cm when open, so this is not a sly little under-counter helper. The 9.7 kg weight reinforces the point. It belongs in a settled kitchen arrangement, not a rental flat where every appliance has to earn its keep twice a year.

The sensible details keep the proposition from becoming a handsome monument to sorting guilt. Standard liners are suitable, custom IW2 and IW6 liners are supported, and activated carbon odour filters are replaceable. There is even a three-year guarantee against defects in materials and workmanship. We chose it because it makes the boring infrastructure of a busy kitchen feel properly considered, which is a strangely satisfying achievement for a large box of rubbish.

There is a particular sort of modern admin that begins with a perfectly innocent note and ends with three notebooks, a screenshot, a half-written email and the vague conviction that the receipt was “somewhere sensible”. The reMarkable 2 exists for people who still want to write things down but would rather not carry a paper archive that reproduces in tote bags.

We picked it because it takes an almost perversely focused approach: a 10.3-inch monochrome digital paper display, touch input and a notably lean 4.7 mm body. At approximately 403.5 g, it is built around the very reasonable wish to keep notes together without converting every meeting into another app ecosystem.

There is no pretending this is a universal-purpose tablet. The screen is monochrome, the internal storage is 8 GB, and the product’s whole point is restraint. That limitation is either blessed relief or a fairly expensive way to discover that your work involves colour-coded material.

As a complementary choice in a desk setup, though, the reMarkable 2 makes a neat case for giving handwritten thinking its own lane. USB-C charging and dual-band Wi-Fi keep it connected to ordinary life, while the paper-tablet premise keeps the usual notification circus out of the room.

Most living rooms have one corner doing absolutely nothing except collecting a phone charger, a dying plant and the faint sense that the big light has given up. We chose the Govee Floor Lamp 2 for that particular domestic blank spot: a 152 cm LED floor lamp designed to add controlled colour and adjustable light without asking for a new cabinet or a small construction project.

The useful bit is not simply that it lights up in colours. The UK listing includes RGBIC multicolour scene modes, dimming, music sync, app control and a remote, so it can be a relatively normal standing lamp one minute and a far more theatrical piece of furniture the next. Sensible people may use it to soften a bedroom or living room; everyone else has clearly already located the music mode.

Govee Floor Lamp 2, model H607C, also works with Alexa and Matter. We think that makes it a worthwhile complementary pick for homes already committed to voice commands, routines and the occasional argument with a smart speaker. It belongs in the home category because, despite its gadget credentials, its actual job is making a room look less like a holding pen for furniture.

There are Black and Silver UK versions. The selected listing is Black, which is the less conspicuous option when the lamp is behaving itself; the lighting, meanwhile, has no such intention.

Round water bottles have had a remarkably easy time of it. They roll about in bags, take up the awkward centre bit, and somehow demand their own little postcode next to the laptop. The memobottle A5 approaches this minor daily nuisance with the energy of someone who has seen one too many bulging commuter rucksacks and decided enough was enough.

At 243 x 148 x 30 mm, the A5 is a 750 ml water bottle laid out like a document. That is a satisfyingly literal answer to the problem of carrying flat things: laptops, notebooks, folders, tablets, the unopened post you keep meaning to deal with. We think that clear purpose makes it more interesting than another vaguely sporty cylinder with motivational lettering.

Its construction is Tritan plastic, BPA and BPS free, with a stainless steel lid, and the bottle weighs 170 g. There is no need to pretend this makes hydration thrilling; it simply makes the bottle less geometrically incompatible with the rest of a working day. The A5 memobottle earns its place as a considered carry item, particularly where a conventional bottle turns a neatly packed bag into a game of three-dimensional Tetris.

There is, naturally, a catch for the material purist. This is still a plastic bottle, however unusually shaped, and the flat format will only matter to people who actually transport it. At home beside a sink, it may look cleverer than it needs to. In a crowded bag, though, clever is rather the point.

The Ronsoile Levitating Plant Pot exists because apparently ordinary greenery was not pulling its weight. A plant can now be asked to hover, magnetically, above its base: a useful reminder that home décor has spent too long behaving itself.

The listing describes a white floating plant pot for an air bonsai, intended as decoration for a home or office. That makes it a natural fit for the corner of a desk currently occupied by loose charging leads, a mug with vague biological ambitions and the creeping sense that the room needs one interesting thing.

We think its appeal is unapologetically visual. There are plenty of sensible planters; this is for the person who sees a plant and immediately wonders why it is obeying gravity so unquestioningly. It turns a modest air bonsai into a small piece of domestic theatre without requiring a full interior-design personality transplant.

A small note of adult supervision, though: the supplied listing confirms the magnetic levitating format and its decorative purpose, but not the dimensions, capacity, power details or wider compatibility. The charm is obvious; the specification sheet has apparently gone for a lie-down.