in my perfect living room: the sofas would be just the right size for napping. there would be a biscuit tin always within reach. my puppy would never ever do his business in there. the log fire would crackle all night. there’d be rug that your feet would sink into. a mismatched tea-set sits on the table on-top of the daily papers and latest issue of cosmo/vogue/new scientist. floor-length drapes frame the massive windows surrounded by rose plants on the outside.

in my perfect kitchen: an aga – obviously. hot cupcakes would be made fresh all day. there’d be a big oak table covered in old burnt wood stains from yummy dinners and hot pots. a stone sink with a penis-type tap. shelves full of recipe books that probably won’t be used (except at Christmas or when i don’t fancy the make-it-up-as-you-go-along-and-see-how-that-works-out approach). dr pepper on tap. the smell of the fresh flowers would  be masked only by the bread baking in the oven. there’d be a fridge full of never ending supplies of fresh yoghurt, milk in proper milk bottles, cheese, salad galore and chocolate of course. my puppy snoring on the wooden floorboards. photos everywhere on the wall. a vintage radio would play my favourite playlists on repeat.

in my perfect bathroom: a freestanding bath that could go all bubbly surrounded by a pretty shower curtain for when i’m rushed. michael buble would sing when he was in the bath. a rubber duck called ronald. his and her sinks with matching mirrors. the walls would be bluey-white covered in things recovered from the beach – old nets, starfish, oars and pebbles in vases. a mosaic for the floor.

in my perfect garden: a hot tub with fairy lights hung all around. a herb garden with the white picket fence around it. chickens running free-maybe a goat too. there’d a netball hoop for when i’m feeling active. a swing to bring out my inner child (like it needs any help). a weeping willow tree would droop over the stream at the bottom of the garden. a treehouse/den/tent/hideout area for when you want to escape the world – there’d be a password to enter of course.

in my perfect bedroom: a four poster bed – what else. pillows, pillows and more pillows (probably moroccan). the sheets would be freshly washed everyday. a walk-in wardrobe. a dressing table with a big mirror would tower over the rows of pretty perfume bottles. a cath kidston-esque armchair perfect for hungover sundays. a patchwork quilt on the end of the bed (handmade of course). there’d be scented candles lighting up the artwork hung all over the wall and photos on the bedside tables. the double french doors open onto the veranda which goes all the way round the house. bunting and fairy lights are intertwined around the banisters.

in my perfect study: not much work would go on here. there walls would be covered in full-lengths shelves filled with books. the desk would be one of those heavy polished ones with an old-style quill and ink well. a big leather armchair would sit in the corner to snuggle up reading a book. jude law would walk in every so often, say something intelligent and then make me cups of tea. there’d be a hidden doorway when you pull out “the tales of peter rabbit.” it’d take you up to the turret. the spiral staircase would lead up to the top with views over the fields all around. the evening sun would light up the telescope for stargazing. an old-school telephone would keep you connected to the rest of the world.

in my perfect dining room: the walls would be warm dark red and the silver would shine without needing to be polished. the chairs would all be vintage mismatched marked with imprints from people sitting there long into the night after dinner parties. a wide round table with one of those swivly bits in the middle so you don’t have to reach for any dishes.

in my perfect house: there’d be gates at the start of the driveway which would be long enough to drive up, but short enough so the postman would still visit. everyone would be welcome. milk delivered daily. the door would be a big one with a huuuge knocker with big stone steps leading up to it. bradley cooper would be driving the sit on lawnmower – preferably topless. in my perfect house, dreams are real.

Advertisements