Never ignore the history.

The first thing you should look at in your home isn’t the furniture, or the tiles, or what kitchen you’re going to get. It’s the bones! The architecture and it’s history should be the starting point for everything.

If you have a beautiful Victorian townhouse, work with it. Keep the detailed cornicing, the tall skirting, the traditional tiles, all the things that give a period home its soul. And if you’re in a new build or something modern, don’t try to fake a history it doesn’t have, because forced ‘old’ never quite has the same effect. Add character sympathetically, in small doses, or choose classic elements that isn’t necessarily tied to an era. Or simply lean into the modern and let that be the main character. Don’t fight the building you’re in.

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Never copy how the last people lived.

When people move house, they tend to unconsciously copy how the previous owners used it. The front room was the living room, so it stays the living room. The biggest bedroom was the master, so that automatically becomes yours too.

But the previous owners weren’t you. Notice which rooms you’re drawn to and how you would “really” like to use them. That former lounge might make a far better office, and the smaller room at the back that gets the lovely evening light might be the bedroom you never knew you wanted.

Work out what works for you, and how you live.

Never copy-paste a look.

If you see an image you love, wonderful, but never try to recreate it. Draw from it. When we’re pulling inspiration together for a client, we might have 20 images that inspire us for one room, and I’ll take small elements from each. The joinery plinth from one, the handle details in another, the way a wallpaper meets a niche, or how the floor transitions into the next room. Then you pull all of it together into something that’s inspired but entirely your own. Curated, not copied.

Never buy everything from one place.

I can always tell when someone has. Some brands have such a recognisable style that you know exactly who it is, and hats off to them for building a brand instantly identifiable. However, you don’t want to re-create the showroom floor in your own home.

A home should feel collected, not bought in one go. Half the joy is in the treasure hunt: the vintage find, the dining table you’ve had saved for months, the same armchair you have taken from house to house. Buy things because you love them, from all over the place. That’s what gives a room its individuality, and it’s the one thing a single shop can never sell you.

Never fake a natural material.

Natural materials always win! Marble, timber, stone, cork, linen, cotton, wool. They look better, feel better, last longer, and they age far more gracefully than anything pretending to be them. So I’d always rather use an honest, inexpensive material than a bad imitation of an expensive one.

Which means no faux wood laminate, no painted “marble” effect plastics and no synthetic passing itself off as linen. Natural materials have a richness that fakes just can’t recreate.

How accessible the real thing is really depends on what you’re using it for. If you’re after natural stone in a kitchen, it doesn’t have to break the bank. There are some affordable granites and quartzite out there. And for something smaller, like a coffee table, real marble is more accessible than ever. You can pick a beautiful one up for as little as £150 or spend £5,000. Some of my friends have found gorgeous big marble tables on Facebook Marketplace and eBay.

The room I’ll bend on this is the bathroom. You absolutely can bring natural stone or timbers into a bathroom, and it looks gorgeous, but it comes with a lot more to weigh up: sealing, water, wear and upkeep. So a REALLY good porcelain that convincingly mimics stone is an exception.

Never treat window dressing as an afterthought.

Window treatments have to be considered from day one, not bolted on at the end, especially on a new build or a big renovation. Do you want blinds tucked neatly into a recessed pocket? Curtains on a track recessed into the ceiling or hidden behind coving/pelmet? All of that has to be planned before the walls are closed up.

This is exactly why we want to be involved as early as possible. On one project we were brought in after the architect and the builder, and the windows had already been ordered, and lo and behold they chose them to open inwards. That meant our blinds couldn’t sit neatly in the recess; they had to be installed on the outside of the window recess instead, which isn’t an issue, we do this all the time. The issue was the way the window opened. If we’d been brought in earlier, we would’ve made sure it opened outwards. For example, you couldn’t have the blind down and the window open at the same time. A small decision that caused a real headache.

I’d also never leave a window undressed, unless it’s a big, beautiful architectural picture window that’s clearly the main event, or it’s in a shower. Everywhere else, I will dress that window. It softens any room, gives you privacy, blackout and sun protection and helps with acoustics.

The area I see forgotten about most is the big open-plan kitchen-dining-living space with a beautiful run of bifolds and nothing on them, because the whole point was the view of the garden. Lovely in theory, but you’re left with a large room predominantly made up of hard surfaces and not a huge amount, bar a sofa and rug to soften the space. Even if you’re certain you’ll never draw them, a pair of dress curtains on either side helps the acoustics and adds the warmth these rooms need.

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Never put a normal TV in a formal room.

We often design formal sitting rooms without a TV, but inevitably someone decides they like the idea of having one in there after all.

And I’ll always push for a Frame TV. If budget allows, I’ll suggest them in most rooms. When they’re off, they blend in, doubling up as a piece of art rather than leaving you with a big black box shouting for attention. Plus there are 10000s of artworks and displays to choose from.

Usually, my rule is no TV above a fireplace, but a Frame is one exception.

Never do an accent wall.

This one’s very much of its moment, and in another 5,6,7 years my views may swing back, but right now I would never do a single accent wall.

If you’re going to wallpaper, wallpaper the entire room. If you want panelling, panel the lot. Commit! When I see a lonely feature wall, it feels like someone wasn’t quite brave enough to take on the whole space.

You want a room to cocoon you, and you don’t get that from one wall doing all the talking. If you’re bold enough to put a fun wallpaper behind your bed, be bold enough to take it all the way around.

Are these actual interior design rules? Absolutely not. But we all have our hills to die on, and these are mine.

See you in the next one.

Lydia x

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Bathrooms and kitchens are my favourite areas to design, however, they are also two of the hardest. There are already a million decisions when you’re renovating a house, but these two spaces seem to come with a million more, and there’s an added pressure attached to those decisions because most of them aren’t particularly cheap or easy to change if you get them wrong. Once the tiles are down and the plumbing is in, you really need to love what you’ve chosen.

A bathroom needs to be functional, but practical doesn’t have to mean taking the easiest option. Often, the detail that looks best is the one your tiler, plumber, or bathroom fitter would rather you didn’t pick, because it’s a little more work. It’s these small finishing details that make a bathroom feel professionally designed.

So here are four bathroom rules I always stand by. I do have 7million more tips and tricks, so no doubt a part 2,3,4 will be incoming.

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1. Bin the trim.

The almighty mitred edge! This is my number one rule!!! DAY UNO of any job, I tell the builder, plumber, tiler, anyone who cares to listen, “We will be mitring tile edges”.

A tile trim is that little strip of metal or plastic capping the edge of your tiling and is the easiest way to finish an edge. For me, it feels like a plaster over a problem! And for some bizarre reason, somewhere along the way, someone decided to call it a feature. On went a metal trim around the niche or the bath’s edge, like a bit of jewellery to finish things off. Ugh! It draws your eye around an area you’d rather nobody look at. You want a bathroom to feel seamless. A trim does the opposite.

Rather than capping the joint, have a beautiful 45-degree cut so the tile wraps around the niche, the wall or the bath edge. No strip, no line, just tile flowing over. Whether you’re using a large-format tile or a 10x10, it makes an edge look finished and quite sexy.

The one trim I’ll allow is a ceramic or stone pencil trim, used as a detail rather than a cover-up. Finishing the top of a half-tiled wall or forming a break between two tiles. I might need to eat my hat here. BUT I will just about allow a white trim on a white tile. Often you won’t see it, so as long as it matches 100% I’ll just about let it slide, but it needs to be so so so thin. The whole point is that you don’t want your eyes to be drawn to the seams of your bathroom.

Chances are you will get pushback. Mitring is more work, and some tiles are genuinely harder to do it with. Some ceramics can be brittle and tricky to cut cleanly, so always check with your tiler first that it’s doable with the tile you’ve chosen. And hold your nerve, because some will kick up and tell you it can’t be done anyway. It can! We mitre the edges on every bathroom we do. They just don’t love to do it, because it’s hard work. So if yours refuses, find another tiler who will. You’re the client, you’re paying for the job, and this is the one thing I’ll always push hardest for.

Try this: Ask your tiler to show you an example of a mitred edge they’ve done before. If you’re spending thousands on tiles, this is not the moment to discover they’ve never done one.

Lydia’s Rule: If an edge can be beautifully mitred, please don’t cover it.

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2. Scale and texture.

Picking the tiles is probably one of the hardest decisions; the world is quite literally your oyster, and somehow you’re supposed to narrow that down to a handful that are all going to live happily ever after in one room. And I think this is where people can get caught up in finding the perfect tile. It’s less about finding one perfect tile and more about understanding how they all work together.

You need to create a hierarchy. Not every surface needs to be screaming for your attention. A large-format tile has fewer grout lines, so visually it tends to feel calmer and more seamless. A smaller tile naturally has more going on, more grout lines, maybe more pattern and more to draw your eye to.

I love the contrast of something large against something small. You might have a large-format stone or porcelain across the floor and continue it half-height up the wall, then introduce a subway, kit-kat or square tile above. Or do the reverse: a small marble mosaic or herringbone on the floor, with a larger tile on the walls.

The proportion of a tile can change how you read the room. A rectangular tile stacked vertically draws your eye upwards and when laid horizontally it can emphasise the width. Even changing the laying pattern of the same tile can give you another layer without introducing another tile.

You do not need to tile every wall! Unless it’s a wet room, I will always have at least one or two walls that aren’t fully tiled. Often we’ll tile the wall half-height, use panelling instead or even simply have skirting and a painted wall. This is just as important as choosing the tiles themselves. Bathrooms already have a lot of hard surfaces, and this gives the room some breathing space. It will also save you money. Big Win!

I love a balance of different textures and finishes. All matt or all gloss can feel flat. Find a combination of the two. Matt porcelain floor against a glazed wall tile. Honed marble against polished sanitary-ware. A timber vanity against stone or ceramic.

Try this: Stand in the doorway and look at your bathroom. Is everything hard? Shiny? Roughly the same scale? Work out what’s dominating, then add the opposite.

Lydia’s Rule: Not every bathroom wall needs a tile. Give the room somewhere to breathe.

3. Soften the hard stuff.

A bathroom is basically a hard box, tiles, glass, stone, metal. So always find ways to soften it.

We love a timber vanity with a stone or porcelain top that’ll withstand the test of time. Wood instantly takes the edge off. If wood’s not your thing, or scares you in a wet area, a painted vanity or one with fluted or grooved fronts gives you another layer of texture.

If you have a window that isn’t in the splash zone, add a Roman blind. You get privacy, it helps with acoustics, and it is a great way to add softness. There are some great water-resistant, in/outdoor fabrics now, so you don’t have to hang a beautiful linen and pray every time someone showers.

Style depending, there are some gorgeous fabric shower curtains out there, or you can even add a little skirt to your vanity. If you have wall lights, consider one with a fabric or rattan shade rather than adding more glass. We’ll come back to bathroom lighting because that’s a whole House Rule in itself.

And if you’re blessed with a bigger bathroom, add a little chair or stool somewhere to throw a towel, perch or, realistically, pile your clothes on. Introducing a piece of furniture makes the bathroom feel much more like a room rather than somewhere purely functional.

Try this: Look around your bathroom and see what’s actually soft. If the answer is nothing! Introduce it: fabric, timber, plant, furniture or a basket.

Lydia’s Rule: Treat your bathroom like a room, not just a wet room.

4. Position everything properly.

One of the few things I remember whilst studying Interior Architecture at uni. Don’t create a new line for the sake of it. Whether I learnt it there or was always slightly obsessive about things lining up, I don’t know, but it’s something I notice constantly now.

A bathroom has lines everywhere! The top of a door, a shower screen, shower niche, every tile, mirrors, taps, valves. Wherever possible, I want those things talking to each other.

And this is where our drawings really earn their keep. We produce detailed bathroom elevations before a single pipe is put in place, right down to the tile setting-out, grout lines, the height of a niche and exactly where a tap or shower valve should sit. Those drawings then go to the builder and trades to work from, so by the time everything is installed, all those little lines should meet exactly where we intended them to.

If you’ve got a half-height tiled wall, make sure it lines up with the shower niche. If the shower screen sits near the door, make them the same height.

If you’re using a small square or subway tile, think about where your taps and valves sit within it, centred on a tile or deliberately on a grout line, rather than sitting awkwardly off-centre.

You don’t necessarily look at a beautiful bathroom and think, “God, I love the alignment of that shower screen with the door.” But all those little lines working together create a sense of balance. And when they’re slightly off, even if you can’t immediately work out why, something can feel off.

Then there’s the practical side of positioning too. For example, shower valves. Wherever your layout allows, try to position them away from the showerhead, so you can turn the shower on and let it warm up without getting a wet arm. It sounds sooo obvious, but I still see it missed all the time.

And this is exactly why we spend so much time setting things out before they’re installed. Moving something slightly on a drawing is easy. Moving it once your £100sqm tiles are on, not so much.

Try this: If you’re planning a bathroom, don’t look at your tile layout and fittings separately. Look at them together before anything is installed: where the grout lines fall, where the taps sit, where the niche starts and finishes, and what else those lines could align with.

Lydia’s Rule: If it can line up, line it up.

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I could babble on for a lifetime. If you want a Bathroom Edition Part Two, let me know in the comments; I can keep going.

See you in the next one.

Lydia x

If you haven't already, catch up on House Rules — Part One and House Rules — Part Two.

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I had a degree, 5 years of industry experience, a delusional level of optimism and enough confidence to know I could figure the rest out as I go.

6 years later, we’ve worked on an array of projects from private homes and large renovations to show homes and multi-unit developments. There have been so many wins, difficult years, and plenty of “Why the F**k am I doing this?”.

I’ve learnt more than I can squeeze into one post, but here are 6 lessons I have learnt in 6 years.

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1. You can’t rush experience

You can study interior design, learn the software, understand technical drawings and have a great design eye. But none of that replaces actually doing the job. Managing clients, contractors, big budgets, timelines, suppliers and the hundreds of decisions that go into a project. Some things you can only learn through experience.

Something inevitably will always go wrong. You can have a brilliant team around you and something completely unexpected will still throw a spanner in the works. 6 years ago, that would have sent me into a frenzy. Today? Deal with it, find a solution and move on.

I think I thrive on a problem. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll have a huff and swear about it for 5mins. AND, I’m certainly not asking for more of them. But I love the challenge of figuring out how we’re going to solve it.

And the projects that have tested me the most are the ones I’ve learnt the most from. Sometimes it’s a simple mistake on site, something we’ve missed, a client who tests a boundary. You deal with it, learn from it and you’re better equipped the next time around. Maybe it changes how we detail something, the questions we ask at the start of a project, or even a clause in our contract.

Experience doesn’t mean things stop going wrong, they always will. It means you get much better at knowing what to do when they do.

2. Back yourself, even when you’re shitting yourself

I still flip-flop with confidence. Some days I know I’ve got this. Other days, the little voice in my head decides today is the day to question every decision I’ve ever made. Imposter syndrome is a real threat!

The difference now is that I’ve learnt not to let that little voice make the decisions. Clients are trusting you with their homes, their money and hundreds of decisions along the way. They need to trust that when you say this is the right decision, you believe it too.

Presenting is one of those moments that really tests me. I started in the industry presenting as part of a team. Now, I’m standing alone in rooms full of people, presenting my own designs.

Does it still fill me with dread? Absolutely.

Do I have a choice? Technically, yes.

Do I want to push myself and succeed more? 100%.

Confidence isn’t about never feeling nervous or questioning yourself. It’s not letting the doubt override what you know.

3. You don’t need to know everything

You don’t walk out of uni with a little black book of brilliant builders, decorators, joiners, makers and suppliers. That takes years of trial, error and finding out who you never want to work with again.

We recently had £4,000 worth of handmade specialist grasscloth wallpaper being installed when it became very clear the decorator was completely out of his depth, despite assuring us he could do it. Half the room was done, some of the paper was ruined, and the clients were moving in the following week. Not ideal!

Early days, I might not have known who to call. Now, it’s a few phone calls: who can I trust, who can get here, and how quickly can we sort it?

I’ve learnt that being good at your job doesn’t mean having every answer. Quite frankly, I don’t know everything, and in another 6 years I still won’t. It’s completely fine to say, “I don’t know.” There’s a confidence in being comfortable admitting that. As chances are I know someone who does.

But every year I know a little more. I add another brilliant supplier or trade to my list. A project throws a problem at me I’ve never seen before, we figure it out, and the next time something similar happens, we are better equipped to deal with it.

You don’t need to know everything. You just need to keep learning and surround yourself with brilliant people you can learn from too.

4. Relationships are everything

Around 90% of our work has come through referrals. One happy client leads to another; one architect, builder or structural engineer recommends you, and suddenly they’ve introduced you to 4 projects.

Instagram is important, and having beautiful projects to show the world certainly helps. But 6 years in, I’ve learnt that your reputation is built just as much by how you work with people as the work itself.

Renovating a home involves a LOT of people. Clients, builders, architects, suppliers and trades, all trying to get to the same end result. And when something goes wrong, it’s very easy for the finger-pointing to start.

Finding someone to blame doesn’t get you anywhere. Knowing how to manage the situation, communicate with everyone involved and get the project moving again does.

There have definitely been moments where I’ve wanted to tear my hair out, or someone else’s. But you deal with it, remain professional and try very hard not to burn bridges; you never know when you might need to cross them again.

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5. Learn to ride the waves

With my optimistic/naive outlook, I thought business would be hardest at the beginning. You grind for a few years, build your way up and eventually reach this magical place called success!

My first year in business was very successful. Then came more difficult years. Projects were delayed, timelines moved, and money we knew was coming wasn’t coming when we needed it, all while you still have salaries and overheads to pay.

But then there’s the other end of the scale. The work comes in, everything lands at once, and suddenly you’ve gone from worrying about having enough to wondering how on earth you’re going to do it all.

I think running a business is constantly trying to find the balance between having enough on and having far too much on. And just when you think you’ve found it, something moves.

6 years in, I’ve learnt to get more comfortable riding the waves. Don’t panic when it’s quiet and don’t get complacent when it’s busy. Neither lasts forever.

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6. My definition of success has changed

When I started the business, success looked fairly obvious: make lots of money, work on amazing projects and slowly build my interiors empire!

And money matters! A profitable business gives you security, pays salaries, allows you to invest, grow and sleep slightly better at night.

But now success feels much bigger than what’s sitting in the bank.

It’s building a name and a reputation I’m proud of. It’s projects we’re genuinely excited to put our name against. It’s being published in a mag and having people within an industry I’ve admired for years now know who we are.

But probably most importantly, a happy client will always be one of my biggest measures of success. They’re trusting us with their home, their money and a huge part of their lives. If they get to the end of a project loving their home and feeling like we made the process better, that’s a win for me!

The same goes for my team. Do they enjoy work? Do our suppliers and trades enjoy working with us? Do people want to come back and do it all over again? If the answer is yes, I think we’re doing something right.

And then there’s the personal side of success: TIME!

I spent 5 years commuting into London, leaving home at 7am and getting back after 8pm. Now, I’ve built a life that gives me more time with my husband, family and friends and that feels like success too.

Don’t get me wrong, running your own business doesn’t mean switching off. Quite the opposite! My brain rarely shuts up, weekends aren’t weekends, and the laptop always makes an appearance on holiday.

But I have a choice. I have more control over how my life looks, where I spend my time and what I say yes to.

I’m also learning to celebrate the small wins along the way, it’s so often we reach one goal and immediately start chasing the next one, without really acknowledging what you’ve just achieved.

Take time, STOP and appreciate how far you’ve already come.

If I could go back and give myself some advice on day one, I think I’d probably just tell myself to “get on with it.”

And that’s my advice to anyone thinking about taking the plunge too. Back yourself. Give it a go. You won’t know everything. You’ll figure most of it out as you go. Work hard and be nice to people.

It sounds incredibly cliché, but they’re clichés for a reason.

A little bit of delusional optimism deffo helps too.

Lydia x

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And when I go to the Cotswolds, I want Cotswolds. Give me wonky stone cottages, blazing fires, low ceilings, antique shops, the best pub lunches and somewhere cosy for the night.

Unsurprisingly, this means I have very strong opinions on where you should stay, eat and spend your time. When someone tells me they’re visiting for the first time, I immediately feel personally responsible for them having a brilliant trip, and will forcefully send over my MUST DO list.

Below is a collection of the places I’ve stayed and loved, the restaurants I’d go back to again and again, and the shops I never skip. Alongside a handful I haven’t made it to yet, but that are firmly on my list.

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SLEEP

I could give you 20 hotels, so consider this a very edited handful: a few I’ve stayed in and loved, and a few I’m dying to try.

Mollies, Faringdon · £

I have such a soft spot for Mollie’s. My husband and I have stayed here every 23rd December for the last 5 years, so it’s somehow become the official start of Christmas for us. A modern take on the classic American roadside motel, simple well-designed rooms, lovely walks on the doorstep and delicious naughty food. Nothing fancy, just fun and very affordable.

The Double Red Duke, Clanfield · £

This is exactly what I want from a Cotswolds pub with rooms. Cosy, eccentric, a little bit sexy and very British. Think patterned fabrics, old furniture, roaring fires and lots of colour. Def come for dinner even if you don’t stay

The Wild Duck, Ewen · £

Very much in the same world as the Double Red Duke. It opened earlier this year and I’m already planning my trip back for the winter. It’s dark, cosy, characterful, with yet again, sensational food. Try and go on a Friday for Lobster and fries night.

Alcoves Cabins, Broadway · ££

Two beautifully designed cabins hidden away on a working dairy farm. Reclaimed timber, log burners, good art, an outdoor bath and a sauna overlooking the fields. It feels simple, secluded and completely at home in its surroundings.

Bull, Burford · ££

Right in the middle of Burford High Street and probably the best option if you want to be able to step outside and immediately start mooching. It’s a Grade II-listed 16th-century inn, but the interiors are chefs kiss limewashed walls, natural fabrics, imperfect finishes and a gorgeous art collection.

Hyll, Chipping Campden · ££

Hyll is for doing very little, very well. A beautiful old manor but much calmer and more pared-back than your traditional country-house hotel. Warm, earthy, understated interiors and the sort of place to book when all you want to do is completely switch off.

Cowley Manor Experimental, Cheltenham · ££

Probably the most playful of the bunch. A grand old manor that Experimental Group has given a much cooler, more colourful identity. There’s still all the Cotswolds grandeur and beautiful grounds, but the interiors have a bit of fun with it rather than taking the country-house thing too seriously. Plus, a very good spa!

Estelle Manor, Eynsham Park · £££

The blow-the-budget one. It has gained a slight reputation for attracting a certain kinda someone, but ignore a few people for the weekend, and you can’t deny how bloody lovely it is. The interiors, rooms and service are all exceptional, and the Roman-inspired spa is worth going for alone. Expensive? Very. Beautiful? 100%

Soho Farmhouse, Chipping Norton · £££

Cabins, bikes, Cowshed, wellies, milk float, good people-watching and somehow an entire world hidden in the Oxfordshire countryside. It’s been copied endlessly since it opened, but it still does what it does incredibly well. (Members only to stay)

And if hotels aren’t your thing, the Airbnb game is very strong. I’ve got a wild number of cottages and converted barns saved.

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EAT

Every hotel above has a genuinely brilliant restaurant, so even if you’re staying elsewhere, take a trip to any of the above for some good grub.

Lardon, Elkstone

European small plates cooked over fire, from the KNEAD and Jesse Smith team. New and very good!

Juliet, Stroud

Apparently one of the coolest restaurants in the Cotswolds and near-impossible to book, so plan ahead.

Canteen 310, Chipping Norton

A Cotswolds pop-up from the cult-followed Notting Hill Italian. If you know, you know.

The Stump, Foss Cross

A 17th-century coaching inn reborn, all wood-fired Italian.

Herd, at Todenham Manor Farm

Farm-to-fork done properly on a working farm. Exceptional ingredients in a superb setting.

Knead Bakery, Elkstone

A mouth watering bakery and café, and my pick for a Sunday brunch.

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MOooch

As we know the Cotwold is a notorious for its incredible Farmshops, it allwasy has some very nice homeware shops. A few I’d never skip:

RH England, at Aynho Park

Restoration Hardware’s UK showroom, set inside the historic Aynho Park. Even if the prices aren’t quite in the budget, go for the architecture and the sheer fantasy of it all. Every room styled to perfection, you can spend hours just wandering around. They also have a handful of lovely restaurants there, if you find yourself spending a little bit too long dreaming.

Daylesford, Kingham

The household name, and for good reason. A bit like going into Harrods or Selfridges if you don’t get to London often, part novelty, part joy. Just make sure you empty your savings account first.

Jolly Nice Farm Shop

One of my favourite Farm shops in the Cotswolds. We have watched this one grow over the years. There’s a drive-through so get yourself some KFP (Kentucky Fried Pheasant). A brilliant shop, their own ice cream, and enough going on that I’d happily file it under lunch spots too.

The Basket Room

Beautiful handwoven baskets and homeware, ethically made with artisan weavers.

Antiques Shops

• Lorfords Antiques, Tetbury

• The Malthouse Collective, Stroud

• Original House, Cirencester

And once you’ve had your fill of shops, The best of the Cotswolds is just wandering.

Burford

Give yourself an afternoon on Burford high street. Antiques, homeware, independents, and one of the loveliest streets in the country.

Upper & Lower Slaughter

Park up and wander between the two. They’re almost offensively pretty, and doing it as a walk means you actually get to enjoy the countryside, rather than spending the whole day hopping in and out of the car.

Snowshill

One for when you want peak English countryside. Wander the tiny village, and if you fancy making an afternoon of it, Snowshill Manor and its Arts & Crafts garden are wonderfully eccentric, and far more interesting, design-wise, than another tourist attraction.

Kiftsgate Court Gardens

And if you want to sneak a garden in, Kiftsgate, near Chipping Campden, is a beauty.

That’s it! Save it, Steal it, and if I’ve missed somewhere brilliant, tell me! And if you’re heading there for the first time, please know I will take your itinerary personally.

Lydia x

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Honest answer? Everywhere.

The truth about taste, it isn’t fixed, it evolves. The more you see, the more your eye develops.

Copying

Good taste doesn’t come from spending hours on Pinterest or doom scrolling on Instagram. In fact, that’s one of the quickest ways to lose your own sense of style.

I can usually spot a Pinterest living room the mo I walk in. We’ve reached a point where so many homes look like copies of one another, all chasing the same trend, colour palette, coffee table books and boucle chairs. And I’m just as guilty as the next person. We are only human, and who doesn’t love looking at nice things? I save inspo almost every day. But inspiration and imitation are two very different things.

If I see a room I love, I don’t want to recreate it. Instead, I’ll ask myself what it is I’m actually drawn to here. Is it the warmth? The lighting? The wallpaper? Then, I’ll borrow the idea, not the room.

I think that’s where people sometimes get stuck. Pinterest should be the starting point, not the finished destination. Use it to spark ideas, then build something that feels like you. Because the most interesting homes aren’t the ones that perfectly recreate someone else’s. They’re the ones that couldn’t belong to anyone else.

Evolving

When I first started my interior journey, I was convinced Chesterfield sofas were the best thing since sliced bread. A few years later, I was obsessed with Scandinavian aesthetic. Bright walls, clean lines, simplicity. Then I got my first job as an intern at a very high-end residential studio in London, and my mindset changed.

The very first project I worked on was a Georgian townhouse in Bath. The husband wanted to fill the house almost entirely with antiques from the same period as the property. His wife, understandably, wanted something a little more balanced. 23-year-old scandnadvain obbsessed me, couldn’t understand why anyone would spend so much money on that many antiques.

I watched it come together. Suddenly, those Georgian commodes, highly decorative mirrors and centuries-old pieces gave the house a depth that brand-new furniture never could. They carried history, craftsmanship and a sense of permanence. Long story short, it completely changed the way I looked at interiors.

Over the next five years, I worked on a variety of projects from elaborate apartments in Moscow to ultra-modern new builds in Surrey and grand Georgian townhouses in London. Every project demanded a completely different way of thinking. My eye was constantly being challenged, and with every new client, my taste shifted a little further. What I thought I loved one year, I’d question the next. Looking back, that period completely reshaped the way I saw design.

There isn’t one definition of good taste. There are homes I’d never choose to live in that I can still appreciate.

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Travelling

Travel is a big contender in shaping my style. I’ve always been obsessed with experiencing every nook and cranny of everywhere I go. The architecture, the food, the culture, the pace of life, the little details that make somewhere feel completely different to my normal.

I’m also obsessed with researching where to stay. It’s not about finding the most luxurious option. Sometimes that is a five-star hotel, other times it’s a tiny family-run Airbnb. It completely depends on the destination, who I’m travelling with and the type of trip.

What never changes is what I’m looking for. I want somewhere that feels rooted in its surroundings. A centuries-old masseria in Puglia should feel unmistakably Italian. A pink plantation house belongs in Barbados. A boutique hotel in Athens should celebrate the city around it. If I travel all the way to Cambodia, I don’t want to feel like I could be in Dubai. I want to arrive somewhere and instantly know where I am.

I think that’s what great design does, it tells the story of a place. It embraces local materials, celebrates traditional craftsmanship and reflects the way people actually live there.

I always come home inspired, because I’ve experienced another way of living.

Looking

I think we’ve lost the art of looking.

Not scrolling.

LOOKING!

Walking into a restaurant and noticing the lighting before you read the menu. Go into a beautiful hotel for a coffee, even if you’re not staying there. Visiting antique markets with no intention of buying anything. Look up at old buildings instead of down at your phone.

Some of the best ideas don’t come from design websites at all. They come from paying attention to the world around you.

Those early years in design completely reshaped the way I thought about interiors. Every project, every client and every place I visited taught me something different. Today, I know what I’m drawn to, but it’s taken years of questioning, experimenting and changing my mind to get there.

And I hope that never stops. Taste isn’t static; as we travel, grow older and experience more of the world, our priorities change. The homes we’re drawn to change. The way we want to live changes.

So the next time you walk into a beautiful home, a hotel or even your favourite homeware shop, notice where your eyes go first. Don’t think about what Instagram tells you should be beautiful. Think about what stops you in your tracks and what keeps drawing your attention.

Because that’s where your own style begins.

Until next time.

Lydia x

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We’ve just wrapped two large 18-month build projects, finished a run of show home fit-outs, and completed a whopper of an interior design package for a large London multi-unit development. This month has finally given me room to breathe. There’s still snagging (there’s always snagging), but the pace has been human again, and I’d forgotten how much I needed that.

In the studio

Project Esher is in its final stretch. The stair runner went in this month, and we’re now onto my favourite stage: styling, accessories, extra artwork. These layers are the last details that connect the final dots.

Project Moor Park, in Buckinghamshire, has reached the finish line too, with the last of the long-lead items finally arriving after months of waiting. And we finally installed the last show apartment in East London, and just our luck, it was 32° for the 2 install days.

In other news, Project Gerrards Cross has officially kicked off. We’ve been waiting months for planning, with some resident bats throwing a spanner in the works, but everything is moving in the right direction. It’s an triple-storey extension and full renovation; the house’s footprint is around 7,000 square feet, (BIG BOY!) and is one I’m especially excited about. The bones are beautiful, the clients have given us the reins, and we’ve had the opportunity to reimagine every corner of the house. We want to celebrate its original character while introducing timeless, modern elements throughout. Every room has been thoughtfully considered, from the layout right down to the smallest details. This is going to be a beaut to watch unfold.

Away from projects, we’ve also had the headspace to invest back into the studio itself. More content, more marketing, more House L Notes. It’s nice to finally have the time to build and work the business, rather than just trying to keep up with it.

We visited WOW!house, swooned around antique markets, and caught up with our suppliers. Those days away from the desk, that’s not on site, tackling every problem bullet fired at us is what every designer (and person) needs to think freely and help grow. It’s amazing how quickly fresh ideas appear when you give your head spac

Life lately

It’s something we all know, but we rarely take our own advice (we tend to do that). Creative work needs quiet.

When every hour feels like a battlefield, there’s no room for new ideas. This month gave me that space back, and with it came a notebook full of ideas, plans for the studio and a renewed excitement for everything we’re building. And perfect timing too, as we’re about to celebrate 6 years of Lydia Allen Interiors.

Outside work, I’ve been making the most of this everlasting sunshine. Long evenings, weekends with family and friends, and remembering that summer is supposed to be enjoyed. We only get so many of them. If we’re lucky, around 80 in a lifetime. That feels far too few to spend them all indoors looking at a screen. And, with so much happening around the world, it’s also been a reminder not to take those ordinary moments for granted.

I also went to BST Hyde Park to see Pitbull and became part of a Guinness World Record, joining more than 22,000 people wearing bald caps. I’m utterly convinced that man could cure the world.

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Things I’m loving

I have been on an Etsy rollercoaster over the years. For some time, it felt like everyone was selling the same thing, but it now feels like it has found its feet again. Once you wade through the s***, you can find some beautiful, crafted pieces again. My saved folder is getting slightly out of hand, so I’ve done the responsible thing and shared it with you instead.

I’ve also become obsessed with all things whimsy. It’s not a style I’d naturally associate with myself. But at the moment, anything that feels romantic, cutesy, and girly has my attention. I know this is just a summer romance. Maybe it’s the sunshine, the flowers, the endless blue skies, or the fact my wedding anniversary is just around the corner. I’ll be back to rich colours and moodier interiors shortly, but for now let’s just be a girl.

On my list

A couple of places I haven’t made it to yet, but added to the endless list of places to visit before 2027

Vesper - Exmouth Market; The interiors, the atmosphere, and the Vesper Martini has my name written all over it.

Sarns - Margate; A ridiculous looking sandwich shop. It’s the sort of place that justifies driving two hours for lunch.

Looking ahead

August is looking like a good one. We’ll photograph Project Esher and Project Moor Park. After living and breathing these homes for the best part of two years, I can’t wait to share them. Like every good project, they’ve challenged us, and taught us a lot.

It’s also a packed social calendar, the kind that, a few months ago, would have sent me into a panic, knowing I didn’t have the headspace for it. Now I can’t wait to embrace it, enjoy the summer, remember what actually matters, and try, as ever, to keep the balance right.

This weekend I am escaping to the Cotswolds for a few days, then heading straight to the Lake District, my happy place. I’m so passionate about it that if anyone tells me they’re going for the first time, I almost feel personally responsible for making sure they have the best trip possible. And will forcefully send them a “MUST DO” list of restaurants, walks, shops, pubs and places to stay.

See you in August.

Lydia x

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Somewhere along the way, we’ve decided there’s a finish line. When that last cushion lands, or that final picture goes up, and we can finally say, “ahhh, it’s done”.

I get it, the project’s dragged on, everyone’s exhausted, and we need to start saving again.

I’ve been in and worked on a lot of homes over the years. Big budgets, tiny budgets, everything in between. The ones that appear to be finished, where everything arrived at once, matched perfectly and slotted into place in one glorious delivery, are almost always the ones that feel the least alive. They photograph beautifully but, they’re the houses where I’m almost scared to put my coffee down.

The homes that stay with me aren’t the expensive ones, they’re the ones I catch myself thinking about weeks and sometimes years later. Still in progress and the homes weren’t ordered, they were collected.

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Because a home isn’t a project with an end date. It’s just a slow buildup of a life. The vase you carried back from holiday, wrapped in three jumpers in your hand luggage, convinced the whole flight it was going to be smashed to pieces. The art you saved two years for, or the cushions you get bored of and change on a every summer. The coffee table books that somehow keep multiplying, even though you’ve run out of surfaces.

And then the things that were never really “design” at all. The dining chair with the scratch from Christmas dinner five years ago. The kids’ drawings you keep meaning to take down and never do. Your grandmother’s bowl that doesn’t suit the room, but every time you look at it, you smile because it brings back a memory.

None of that can be bought in an afternoon. And none of it is ever finished, because you’re not finished. You’re still going places, still finding things, still changing your mind about all of it. And your home should be allowed to do the same.

Which is why the biggest mistake I see isn’t buying the wrong thing. It’s buying everything at once. Trying to finish every room before you’ve even properly lived in it.

And before I sound preachy, I’m terrible at this too. There’s a black wall in my living room, above my sofa (a key zone, that really needs filling) that’s been sitting empty for tooo long. I am waiting for the right piece of art. I’m forever hunting, print sites, local artists, Vinteriors at midnight, and I still haven’t found the one. My husband regularly begs: “can you please just buy the bloody artwork so we can finish the room.” But I don’t want the piece that finishes the room. I want the piece that belongs in it. And I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Same with the little side table between our two wingback chairs in the window where we sit for a coffee, or a cocktail, or just to stick some music on and do absolutely nothing for half an hour. That little ceramic table has come with us from house to house for years and I love it. But I’ve always wanted one a touch taller and wider, so you’re not leaning and reaching for your cup. One day the right one will turn up, until then it stays.

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I think that’s where a lot of the quiet panic comes from now. We doom scroll hundreds of perfect, finished, beautiful rooms, and somewhere in there we’ve started to believe our own homes are failing, just because they’re still a work in progress. They’re not failing. They’re alive. A home that’s still becoming something.

So here’s the golden nugget. Your home doesn’t feel unfinished. It feels like it’s still yours to mould. And the day you stop trying to “finish” it and start letting it grow with you, all the vintage finds and the holiday treasures and the one wonky thing you love for no reason, it quietly stops being a project and starts being a home.

The home I think about most, isn’t a designed one at all. It belongs to a school friend of my husband’s. His parents were both professors, and their home was exactly what you’d hope for: gloriously chaotic, endlessly curious, and full of a life well travelled. The sort who apologise for the state of the place the second you walk in. They needn’t. It’s one of the most alive homes I’ve ever stood in. A big Victorian house full of artwork and figurines, books and posters, sculptures and things from every corner of the world, gathered over decades. Sofas they’ve sunk into for years. Nothing new or shiny, and barely a thing that matches

And I, who is ironically a neat freak am in awe. Because you can see exactly who they are. Within thirty seconds you know these are people who’ve seen the world and have the stories to prove it. They nearly hired an interior designer years ago but never did, and thank god, because no designer alive could have given that house what a lifetime gave it. I’ve been in a lot of beautiful homes, and that’s the one that stuck.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

The best homes are never really finished. They get collected, edited, rearranged, and they quietly grow older alongside the people living in them.

So if you’re sat staring at an empty corner wondering what on earth is meant to go there, leave it. For now. Maybe the right thing just hasn’t happened to you yet.

Lydia x

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So, if you’re in your shell era too, this one’s for you.

^{1. Shell mosaic side table | 2. Mussel shell wall light | 3. Chevalier kitchen tongs | 4. Decorative shell box | 5. Caviar dish & spoon | 6. Antique brass wall mirror | 7. Pink glass hurricane | 8. Murano glass wall sconces | 9. Petal photo frame | 10. Seashell cocktail picks | 11. Cornelia table lamp | 12. Thea scalloped bedding | 13. Silver triple condiment server | 14. Shell wine glasses | 15. Solei ceramic vases | 16. Pearl earrings | 17. Christabel embellished minidress}

Until the next edit...

Lydia x

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Every time I walk into a home, there are a few things I notice almost immediately. Sometimes they’re tiny details and sometimes they’re the reason a room doesn’t quite feel right, even though everything in it is beautiful.

These are 4 of the ones I see most often and, thankfully for you, they’re all easy to fix.

Let’s get into it.

1. Everything is shoved against the walls.

There’s an instinct, and I think it’s a hangover from small flats and student houses, to push every piece of furniture against the wall, as if the goal is to leave the maximum possible empty space in the middle of the room. It doesn’t make a room feel bigger, it makes it feel like a waiting room.

So pull things off the walls, just a few cm will do it. Float a sofa. Angle a chair. Let a console breathe. The moment furniture stops hugging the perimeter, a room starts to feel deliberate rather than default.

The other half of this is scale, and the answer isn’t simply “go bigger.” The trick isn’t to supersize everything. A huge sofa, an oversized coffee table, giant artwork and an enormous floor lamp all fighting for attention will make a room feel just as uncomfortable as everything being too small.

Good interiors are a balancing act. You choose where the room gets its one or two bold moments, and you let everything else quietly support them. Maybe it’s the oversized pendant over the dining table. Maybe it’s a single beautiful armchair, one big sculptural vase, or the art. The point is that not everything needs to shout at once. In fact, the quiet moments are often what make the bold ones sing.

Where people go wrong is at the other end too: the tiny lamp on a big sideboard, the little coffee table marooned in front of an enormous sofa, the postcard of a painting on a huge wall. Undersized things don’t make a room look bigger, they make it look apologetic. Tiny lamps have ruined more beautiful sideboards than I’d care to admit.

So it’s not “go big.” It’s knowing what to size up, and what to keep quiet.

Try this: Move your sofa just 10cm off the wall and stand back. I bet the room already feels more considered.

Lydia’s Rule: If every piece of furniture is touching a wall, pull one piece forward. Start there.

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2. What a sad little rug.

I know, I know! Everyone says this. It’s the most repeated piece of advice on the internet, and I wanted to avoid it, for exactly that reason. But I’m saying it anyway, because people are still doing it. WHY???

People spend thousands on a beautiful sofa, slide a bath mat of a rug underneath it, and then can’t work out why the room feels off.

Here’s the test: if your rug is floating in the middle of the room like an island, with the furniture standing politely around the edge, it’s too small.

What you want is for the furniture to sit on it. At the absolute minimum, the front legs of your sofa and chairs on the rug. Ideally, the whole lot, with the rug showing beyond each piece.

And yes, sizing up costs more. But bigger does not have to mean thousands. IKEA’s LOHALS jute is one of the best affordable oversized rugs going, and one I recommend time and time again. RugVista and Benuta are brilliant across nearly every style. And eBay and Etsy are full of vintage rugs if you’re willing to hunt a little. I’ve had clients spend £400 on a rug, and others spend £20,000 and wait 24 weeks for it to be hand-knotted in Nepal. Neither is right or wrong. Every client has different priorities, some see a rug as the finishing touch, some see it as a piece of art to build the whole room around. What matters, whichever camp you’re in, is getting the size right.

Try this: Put painter’s tape on the floor to mark where the next rug size up would sit. Nine times out of ten, it won’t feel nearly as big as you imagined.

Lydia’s Rule: If you’re choosing between two rug sizes, buy the bigger one. Every time.

3. Babe, the lighting is doing nothing for you.

Lighting is one of my favourite parts of designing a home. And I'm about to go in and go hard at the humble spotlight. Look, I love beautiful pendants, chandeliers, wall lights, table lamps, floor lamps and picture lights. Spotlights absolutely have their place. So do discreet LED details, when they’re done well.

What I don’t love is when they’re expected to do everything.

Rows and rows of spotlights marching across a ceiling, like someone bought them in bulk and felt obliged to use every last one, should never be the thing creating the atmosphere. Their job is practical, and used sparingly, supporting the rest of the scheme rather than carrying it.

The most common thing I walk into is a room lit by a perfect grid of spotlights and nothing else. Somewhere along the way, someone decided that every sqm of ceiling deserves its own downlight. The result? Cold, flat, unflattering. Nobody wants to sit in that. Nobody has ever sat down with a glass of wine and thought, “I wish there were more spotlights.”

If you’ve inherited a ceiling full of spotlights and you’re not touching the wiring, don’t panic. The goal is simple: make the room so beautifully lit that you NEVER need to turn them on. Start with lamps, a pair of table lamps, floor lamp tucked into a corner. Build the light from the room up, not the ceiling down. And if your sockets aren’t where you’d like them, or you don’t fancy chasing cables through freshly painted walls, the rechargeable options now are brilliant. Rechargeable wall lights, table lamps and floor lamps. No electrician, no mess. Just charge them and put them exactly where you want them.

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If you’re renovating or starting from scratch, Lucky you! because you get to plan it properly. Before you decide where a single spotlight goes, think about how you’ll actually live in the room. We always start with the decorative lighting first. Is there a beautiful pendant over the dining table? A chandelier in the hallway? Wall lights framing a fireplace? Table lamps on a console? A floor lamp beside the sofa?

Those are the lights that give a room atmosphere. They’re what you’ll actually use. Decorative lighting creates pools of light rather than one flat blanket of brightness, and that is what makes a room feel intimate.

Only once those are in place do we think about spotlights, and even then they’re there to do a job. They might light a kitchen worktop, a utility or a wardrobe. They’re practical, not the main event. You definitely don't want them over your head whilst in bed, or watching the TV.

That’s the biggest shift in thinking. Spotlights shouldn’t be responsible for the mood of a room. They should quietly support everything else. For our clients, we always work in the same order: decorative lighting first, then lamps and wall lights, then practical spotlights where they’re genuinely needed. The result is a room that feels layered, considered and comfortable, rather than evenly blasted from above.

That order changes everything.

A few extra tips for you. Warm white, ALWAYS! 2700K is the sweet spot. It’s probably the cheapest upgrade you’ll ever make, and a beautiful lamp with a cold blue-white bulb is a waste of a beautiful lamp. And if you’re picking a pendant, be brave. I see far more lights that are too small than too big. A tiny shade floating in the middle of a large room almost always looks apologetic. Give it the stage baby!

Try this: Turn off your ceiling lights this evening and switch on every lamp you own instead. If the room immediately feels calmer, you’ve just proved my point.

Lydia’s Rule: Build a room’s lighting from the lamps up, not the ceiling down. The “big light” should be the exception, not the default.

4. You’re mixing metals wrong (or not at all).

Two problems here, and they’re opposites.

The first is people who think everything has to match. Every tap, every handle, every switch plate the same finish throughout. It’s safe, and it’s flat. Mixing metals is what makes a scheme feel collected rather than ordered off a single page.

The second is people who mix them badly. And this is the bit I find genuinely interesting, because the metals that clash aren’t the ones that are most different. They’re the ones that are almost the same. The combinations I nearly always avoid are nickel with chrome, because they sit so close together they just look accidental, and brass with chrome, which tend to fight each other unless you’ve been very deliberate about where each one goes.

On the other hand, matt black gets on with almost everyone. Brass, nickel, chrome, bronze, it flatters all of them.

And if you’re reading this glancing guiltily at your chrome taps, don’t panic. You do not need to rip anything out. Just introduce one other finish somewhere else, clearly on purpose: black picture frames, bronze cabinet handles, a brass wall light. The second there’s a second finish that’s obviously a choice, the whole thing reads as layered rather than a mistake.

If you want a rule to hold in your head, it’s really two things. First, warm or cool (brass, bronze and copper on one side; chrome, nickel and steel on the other), plus the finish (polished, brushed, aged, matt). And second, let one metal lead, roughly two thirds of the room, with the other playing a supporting role. Dominant, then accent.

None of this is law. But after years of designing homes, I’ve learnt that a room rarely benefits from a committee of finishes.

Try this: Walk around your kitchen and count the finishes. If there are 6 simplify, if there’s only 1. Find another to introduce a second, on purpose.

Lydia’s Rule: Let 1 metal lead. A room with a committee of finishes never quite relaxes.

That’s Part Two. 4 things everyone’s getting slightly wrong, and 4 things you could fix this weekend.

See you in the next one.

Lydia x

This is House Rules, a recurring series on the details that make a home. If you enjoyed it, there’s a subscribe button around here somewhere.

House Rules - Part One

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So why do so many of the premium wellness spaces we happily pay a fortune for still feel like a leisure centre?

I’m a member of two very different places.

One is Soho House (eye rolls welcome). But for all the controversy, it is an incredibly considered, well-designed space. You walk in, and you feel something.

The other is one of the big premium leisure clubs most of you probably know. The sort of place you’ll find all over the Home Counties if you don’t have a Soho House on your doorstep. Pool, gym, fitness classes, tennis courts, somewhere to grab a coffee afterwards, a space to work for a couple of hours, and, if you’re lucky, a spa. You probably know the one. I won’t name names, so for the sake of this article, let’s call it Leisure Club Two. A top-tier membership costs around £210 a month. Call it £2,500 a year. And just for reference, there is only a £50 a month difference between the two.

A Saturday by the pool

This whole thought landed on me while I was sitting by the pool at Leisure Club Two, on a gloriously sunny weekend we’ve been lucky enough to have lately.

The pool was packed. To be fair, Soho House pools are every bit as rammed, but at least they look good while you’re fighting someone for a lounger. Instead of relaxing, I did what every interior designer does: quietly picked apart every decision that had been made. Did anyone actually think about this? Was there a designer in the room at all?

Sitting by a pool is always a pleasure. But there are pools you wow at, and pools you just forget. This is a forgettable one.

We’re all bathing on cheap looking metal sun loungers, beside a pool clad in tiny grey mosaic tiles. There’s a polished chrome water feature that, I imagine, is meant to read as luxury. It reads as a handrail. And the tiles underfoot are grey 30x30 cement slabs, the exact ones you’d find outside your local high street.

The intention was there. Someone, somewhere, wanted this to be a nice place to be. But the outcome is just a little dull. And I’ll admit I’m a particularly harsh critic.

The gym itself has been renovated over the years and genuinely looks good. Great equipment, huge space. But then you reach the little pockets that clearly got no love. The changing rooms, flat and brown, more municipal leisure pool than premium wellness club. And the café/coworking space, where I spend a couple of afternoons a month working away, and which everyone has to walk through to reach the gym or the spa. It’s all patterned tub chairs and booths in endless shades of brown, basic and uninspired, broken up with the odd nervous pop of colour.

Someone designed it, technically. It just doesn’t give you that feeling you came in for.

My club, here in Surrey, is meant to be one of the more premium ones. It’s big, well run, most of the bells and whistles, and a lovely spa that half the members would tell you is worth the fee on its own. I had a nose at the others online too, and the standard ones broadly read the same: same palette, same finishes, same flat, wipeable everything. There are a handful of “Luxe” flagship clubs, the shiny London ones, that sit on a higher tier my membership won’t get me through the door of, so I can’t tell you whether those have cracked it. Maybe they have.

I know exactly how fortunate I am to belong to both places. But that's also what makes the comparison so fascinating. Here are two clubs charging almost the same amount of money and offerings, broadly speaking. Yet one feels like a genuine escape and the other feels... fine. Perfectly pleasant, but instantly forgettable. As a designer, how can two places that are so similar on paper create such completely different experiences.

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Did anyone even try?

Because I keep asking that same question. You can see that they did, it’s just not landing everywhere.

My club shows how close it is. Walk into the spa, and it’s dark, moody, dimly lit, a Himalayan salt sauna glowing in the corner, a steam room, a plunge of ice-cold water, a quiet little cave of treatment rooms. And it works.

A fair bit of that “luxury” is really the lighting doing the heavy lifting, helped along by a premium offering (a Himalayan salt sauna makes anyone’s brain leap straight to “fancy”). But it works, because someone gave it a mood.

And that is the thing I can’t get past. For the money everyone is handing over, how do you get one area that feels like an escape, and another a few steps away that feels like the local leisure pool?

We’re paying for third spaces.

We’re paying for third spaces. The place between home and work. We don’t just exercise there now, we have coffee, meet friends, answer emails, read, swim, escape for an hour. When I signed up, I wasn’t buying a treadmill. I was buying somewhere to spend my time, which means the interior matters far more than it did fifteen years ago.

And you’d assume the reason it falls short comes down to money. It doesn’t, the big chains are doing nicely. The money is absolutely there. Soho House, by contrast, has barely turned an annual profit in nearly thirty years, because it spends every penny on the feeling, and on opening the next house.

I’m not saying a gym should run at a loss chasing marble. Quite the opposite. The profitable one can clearly afford to care how it feels a little more than it currently does. I get it, everyone wants a bit more in their pockets. But theirs are pretty full.

This isn’t some humble gym that never promised anything. These clubs have spent years rebranding themselves as the opposite of a gym, a “premium wellbeing destination”, lifestyle clubs, somewhere to “elevate” the everyday rather than just somewhere you work out. They raised the prices to match, and we paid.

Then you walk into somewhere that gets it.

You know the opposite feeling too. A boutique hotel. A 5* spa. A gorgeous restaurant. That moment you walk in and something just... settles.

Take Soho House (Service aside), it’s the moody, layered lighting, the well-designed furniture, the texture and pattern everywhere you look. It also smells great, because they design their own fragrances! It’s the feeling of walking into a five-star hotel, and you’ll forgive almost anything for it.

Soho House isn’t selling fitness. It isn’t really selling the food, or the pool, or the gym. It’s selling atmosphere and lifestyle. That’s the entire product. Their in-house design team has thought about the lighting. The music. The smell. The furniture. The materials. The little corners where you can disappear with a picante. It’s about intention. It’s a design team who cares about how you feel from the second you walk through the door.

The big leisure clubs think they’re selling a wellbeing destination. Soho House knows it’s selling a feeling. For me, that’s the whole thing.

It's method, not magic

None of it is some dark art. There’s a recipe, and it isn’t a secret.

Start with light, because it does the most work for the least money. The good places layer it: four or five sources in a single room, all warm. Soho House won’t hang a bulb cooler than 2700K. Warm light forgives everything. Cold light forgives nothing.

Then you mix. A bit of vintage in with the new, so nothing feels flat-packed or ordered in a single catalogue go. Texture against texture, a velvet beside an aged brass. Seating you want to fall into rather than perch on. A piece of real art instead of a set of three prints. And a scent, so you go “Mmmmmm” the moment the doors open.

Good design isn’t expensive. It’s considered.

That’s the biggest myth going: that beautiful spaces need bottomless budgets. They don’t. They’re the result of better decisions. Knowing where to spend, knowing where not to, and above all, caring how someone feels when they walk in.

These spaces have to be practical. The materials have to be wipeable, easy to clean, hard-wearing, and able to survive a decade of soggy swimmers and sweaty arses. But practical and flat are not the same thing. You can have texture that still wipes clean. You can have a considered palette that still mops down.

If someone handed me the keys tomorrow, I wouldn’t rip it all out. I’d put every penny into the spaces where people actually sit and linger. The café and the communal areas, especially the ones everybody walks through to get anywhere, because those set the tone for the entire club.

Start with the lighting, always the lighting, and warm the whole thing up so it stops feeling like an office at 4pm in November. A few pendants, a wall light and table light here and there. I’d swap the patterned carpets, bring in natural materials, choose patterns that don’t scream 2010 Premier Inn, mix up the shapes of the tables and chairs, take the edge off the endless walnut. And, for the love of all things good, some proper art.

The zoning is fine; there are booths, little pockets of low seating. It’s the pieces themselves that let it down: cheap, uncomfortable, clearly chosen to survive a decade rather than to actually be sat in. Give me sofas you sink into, and armchairs that look as good as they feel, and you’re halfway there. None of it is radical. It’s just considered.

And the wild part.

The appetite is already there. The members are there. What’s missing is the atmosphere.

I’m not expecting marble everywhere or handcrafted furniture. I’m expecting someone to have asked a much simpler question:

How do we want people to feel when they walk through the door?

It’s the same reason you’ll happily pay hundreds of pounds a night for a hotel that makes you instantly relax. Or why you’ll linger in one coffee shop for two hours but leave another after ten minutes.

They’re all selling the same thing. A feeling. Maybe that’s why I find all of this so interesting, it’s never really about the furniture or the lighting or even the gym. It’s about the invisible decisions that quietly shape how we experience a place.

And once you start noticing them...eeek!

Anyway. Rant over, lounger reclaimed.

Lydia x

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Every year, roughly nine thousand people publish their interior trend predictions. Most of them have never carried a sofa up four flights of stairs or waited three months for a tap that turned up in the wrong finish. I have. So here are mine. And because I believe in accountability, I’ll revisit every one in December and tell you where I was right and where I made a fool of myself.

First, what I think is dying

I want to do this gently, because there are a few things here I love.

Bouclé — or rather, synthetic bouclé. I’ve been specifying good bouclé for the best part of ten years. That looped, curly yarn has been curling away since the 1940s, when Eero Saarinen wrapped his Womb Chair in Knoll’s bouclé and Coco Chanel cut it into her now-iconic jacket in 1954. It is a mid-century classic. The trouble came in the last five years or so, when the high street caught up and suddenly every single shop had a bouclé something. And when a considered thing goes everywhere in its cheapest possible form, that’s usually the sign it’s peaked. So I’m not calling bouclé dead. I’m calling the sad, synthetic stuff that pills and goes flat after you’ve sat on it four times dead. Long live the good bouclé.

The marshmallow shape — all those puffy, bubbly, entirely round sofas, beds and armchairs. I do love a curve, but I think we’ve reached peak squish. My call is that angles are quietly coming back. Not instead of curves, alongside them. A rounded sofa with a proper structured armchair beside it. A soft edge against a sharp one. The best rooms have always been a conversation between the two.

Brown. And now the one that might get me in trouble. Chocolate, coffee, caramel, every warm shade of it. Everyone is obsessed right now, and I understand why: it’s cosy, and it was a blessed relief after all that grey. But I think it starts to dry up. Not vanish, brown will always somewhere, but its main-character moment is nearly done. Screenshot that one especially. It’s the call I’m least sure about.

And a couple of quick ones. The squiggle mirror, you know the one, it launched a thousand identical selfies. And open shelving styled to within an inch of its life, groaning with objects nobody uses and no one ever dusts. Shelves are allowed to hold books again or that little bowl you picked up at a market in Portugal. Give it centre stage. And, Fast Furniture.

Now the fun part.

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1. Powder blue isn’t going anywhere

I’ll admit this one’s a bit of a cheat, because it’s already been making its way to the top for a while now. While we’ve all watched the richer tones, oxblood, olive, all that lovely depth dominate the last couple of years, I’m noticing powder blue quietly holding its own. It’s becoming less of a nursery pastel and more of a sophisticated neutral, particularly paired with walnut, aged brass and warm natural materials. That’s the whole trick: powder blue alone can read a bit sweet, but sat next to a warm timber and a bit of tarnished brass, it grows up in an instant.

2. Y2K is coming for your house

We’ve watched it storm through fashion. Gen Z has been raiding the early 2000s for a couple of years now. Whimsical celestial prints, pod-like seating, glossy finishes, and a general refusal to be beige. The proper name for the mood is “dopamine decor,” which is a fancy way of saying rooms designed around joy. I’m not suggesting you fill the lounge with lava lamps. But a flash of nostalgic, slightly-too-fun energy? I think we’ll all be quietly borrowing from it.

3. Cherry red, specifically

If I had to bet on one colour for 2027, it’s cherry red. Not burgundy, not oxblood, those have had their moment and are settling comfortably into “classic.” I mean a proper, glossy, unapologetic cherry. It does something clever: a single cherry-red object in an otherwise calm, natural room lifts the whole lot. A lamp, a stool, a lacquered tray. And cherry red next to a soft ice or powder blue is unbelievably good.

4. The other blue

Here is powder blues louder cousin. I’ve started noticing electric, almost sapphire blues popping on runways. I’m not suggesting you paint the lounge the colour of a raspberry slush. But a hit of electric blue, a lacquered console, one bold chair, a glazed lamp, the painted inside of a cupboard as a little surprise, is going to feel very now. So blue is really the story of 2027, top to bottom: powder for the everyday, electric for the show-off.

5. Kitchens that behave like furniture — and worktops that misbehave

Two things here. First, the kitchen is becoming less “fitted units” and more furniture islands that read as a standalone piece, freestanding dressers, cabinetry with legs and personality rather than a wall of identical doors. The best kitchens have always looked collected, not delivered.

Second, the bit I want most, so take this one with the caveat that it might just be me manifesting. I am so ready for a bold worktop. Look, I love both, so often we see these beautifully neutral kitchens with a gorgeous Calacatta stone, and I understand why: a lot of them are show homes or built with resale in mind, there for a good time, not a long time, so they have to stay sellable. But in a home you actually live in? Go big. I want green worktops. I want blue worktops, with an extra-thick profile or a triple bullnose. I want the maddest, most characterful piece of stone you can lay your hands on. My prediction, and my plea: the surface becomes the statement, that’s not just Calacatta Viola.

6. Bathrooms with a bit of drama

The stark-white clinical box or a shower feature wall is being swapped for something with a pulse. The direction I love is the boutique-hotel bathroom: bright, energising, mixing materials, finishes, sizes, shapes and textures. But here’s my bolder statement: I think we’ll see people going the other way entirely and doing darker, moodier bathrooms. The small windowless one everyone apologises for? Stop fighting it. Lean in, drench it in something deep, light it properly, and suddenly the least promising room in the house is the most seductive.

7. We’ll design for ourselves, not for guests

A quieter one, but I think an important one. For years, we’ve designed our homes for other people. The imagined dinner party, the drop-in guest, the resale value. As everyone tries to claw back a bit of time offline, I think that shifts. We’ll build rooms around what we actually enjoy: a games table you’ll genuinely use, a proper coffee station for the morning ritual, a record corner, a reading chair placed for the light rather than the telly. Little rituals, given a bit of real estate. Not every room has to point at a sofa and a screen.

8. Patterned veneers beyond the burl

As designers, we’ve been specifying decorative veneers for years. Burl was the one that finally broke through and hit the high street recently. My call for 2027 is that the more interesting patterned veneers start landing on our shelves too, the graphic, the book-matched, the frankly show-off grains that used to live only in proper cabinetmakers’ workshops.

9. Wellness moves in for good

We’ve spent a few years bringing wellbeing into the home, and it’s not slowing down, it’s just getting built in. Sound wired through the house, infrared panels, saunas creeping out of the spa and into the utility room. There’s a whole corner of the internet, the biohacking, optimise-every-cell corner that I subscribe to and quietly enjoy. And while some of it is far too extreme, the entertainment value is undeniable.

So, alongside all the beautiful lighting I bang on about, don’t be surprised to see a few people quietly swapping the odd living-room bulb for a red one. Red-light therapy, apparently. I love a good light, I just didn’t expect one of them to be therapeutic.

And now, a few more that are NOT going anywhere

I can already hear some of you: “hang on, what about…?” So before you write in, here’s what I think isn’t a trend at all. These are the classics, the things that were never really in, so they can never really be out. They just quietly keep being good.

Pattern, in all its forms — florals, stripes, modern, animal print, a small-scale repeat. Pattern is permanent. It only ever looks dated when it’s done timidly.

Square tiles and zellige. The humble square tile has become a hero again, and zellige, all that lovely uneven, hand-made variation is texture and pattern in one. Not a trend. A staple.

Colour and pattern drenching. Wrapping a whole room in one shade or one print isn’t brave any more, it’s simply a good tool. And good tools don’t go out of fashion.

Polished metals. I’ll admit a proper love-hate here. I was militantly anti-polished-chrome for years, and now I adore it. Which is exactly the point: the classics come round again, and chrome, brass and nickel will keep doing that forever.

Natural materials. Stone, timber, linen, wool, plaster. The eternal answer. If you’re ever unsure, reach for something that grew or came out of the ground.

Butter yellow. Yes, it’s having a moment. But yellow in this soft, buttery form never really leaves. Warmer than mustard, gentler than lemon, quietly nostalgic. It’s sunshine you can actually live with.

Vintage and retro finds. The single most reliable way to make a room feel like yours and nobody else’s. Never a trend. Always right.

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And that’s where my money is

None of this is gospel. Trends are just a lot of people slowly agreeing on something at the same time. So, save this, screenshot it, pin it to the fridge if you’re that way inclined. In December, I’ll pour a large glass of something and mark my own homework in public. If I’m right, we celebrate. If I’m wrong, well, at least you’ll have had a good time watching.

See you next time.

Lydia x

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The Pimm's, the strawberries and cream, picnic blankets on the grass, a match on in the background and that unmistakable feeling that summer has finally arrived.

Here’s everything that’s caught my eye this week.

^{1. Directors’ Chair | 2. Make It a Double - Cushion | 3. Stripe cooler tote | 4. Slim Aarons - Tennis Print | 5. Embroidered Napkins | 6. Racquet Keyring | 7. Stripe Towel | 8. Green Tumblers | 9. Salt & Pepper Mill | 10. Butter Knife | 11. Courtship Book | 12. Green Goddess Candle | 13. Green Jug | 14. Rattan Trays | 14. Ceramic Platter}

Anyway... that’s enough enabling from me for one day. See you in the next edit.

Lydia x

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This is the start of a mini series. The things I’ve learned after years of designing other people’s homes, wandering around houses of every budget, and forming a lot of opinions. Some of it is advice. Some of it is just me telling you what I think.

It’s rarely about spending more. I’ve worked on homes with a £2 million FF&E budget that felt flat, and homes done on very little that felt considered, warm and rich. The difference is rarely the budget. It’s the details. Which means it’s accessible to everybody.

So, before we get to the obvious ones everyone bangs on about (yes, we’ll do rug sizes and lighting eventually), let me start with the details people don’t talk about enough. And a quick note before anyone says “but I rent” some of these need no drill, no landlord permission, and come with you when you leave.

Let’s get into it.

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1. Texture, texture, texture.

If there’s one thing I notice almost immediately when I walk into a home, it’s whether it feels flat. Not because of the colour. Or the furniture. Or even the layout.

Texture is probably the most overlooked part of interiors, because people don’t always realise they’re looking at it. They just know a room feels a bit off.

The easiest way I can explain it is to imagine a room with painted walls, a painted ceiling, a flat-weave rug, a cotton sofa and a lacquered coffee table. Nothing’s necessarily wrong with it, but everything has the same visual weight.

Now imagine introducing panelling on the walls, linen curtains that puddle on the floor. A chunky woven rug. A textured timber side table. A boucle armchair. A ceramic lamp with an uneven glaze. A chunky framed artwork. Suddenly, the room has something to say.

Texture is what gives a home warmth. It’s what makes a room feel like somewhere you want to sink into, not just look at. One thing I always tell clients is not to think about buying “more”. Think about introducing contrast.

Something rough next to something smooth.

Something matte next to something polished.

Something soft next to something structured.

That’s where the magic happens.

2. Dress your windows properly.

I almost always hang curtains as high and as wide as I can. Not sat directly above the window, but up near the ceiling. It instantly makes the ceilings feel taller, the window feel bigger, and the whole room breathe a bit more.

One of the biggest mistakes I see is curtains that are only the width of the window and hovering 2cm above the frame. When they’re open, they cover half the glass, block loads of natural light, and somehow make the whole room feel a little mean.

I’ll always extend the curtains 15 to 20cm past the window on each side, sometimes more. And in a smaller room, where there isn’t much wall on either side of the window, I’ll often run the curtains from wall to wall. A whole wall of soft, floor-length curtain. It’s such a simple thing, and it looks unbelievably considered.

And then there’s softness. Even if you’re having blinds, I’d always layer them with a sheer or a linen curtain. It’s that softness that makes a room feel warm, relaxed and finished. It also helps with acoustics; a room with nothing soft around the windows can feel echoey and hard.

Now, every designer has their own non-negotiables, and here’s mine: curtains have to touch the floor. They have to puddle, 2 to 3cm minimum. I do not want to see an ankle-swinger. There’s a time and a place for those, and it is not on my projects. Nothing worse than a curtain that stops short of the floor. Not skimming, not hovering 2cm above. On the floor = SEXY!

Now... shutters. I know they’re popular, but they’re just not really my thing. Unless your home is a château in the south of France, they rarely feel right to me.

That said, if you already have them in, I would never tell you to rip them out (unless you want to). If you’re renting, or they’re already there, keep them. They’re great for blackout and privacy. But I would highly recommend adding curtaina in front of them anyway, for that softness, because shutters are hard against hard, and they do nothing for the acoustics of a room.

The good news is that there are some brilliant made-to-measure curtain companies now that don’t cost anywhere near what they used to. It’s one of those investments that makes a room feel complete.

3. Buy art with a story.

This one matters to me more than almost anything. It’s probably one of the biggest things that separates a home that feels personal from one that doesn’t.

Guilty, I’ve done this myself over the years for some show homes. So many people head straight to one of those print websites, buy a ready-made gallery wall, and tick art off the list. I’ve done the same for show homes and marketing suites. But in someone’s own home, it always feels a little flat. There’s nothing of the person who lives there.

The homes I remember are never the ones with the perfectly matching print sets. They’re the ones with the slightly odd painting someone picked up in a charity shop, the print they carried home from Italy because they couldn’t stop thinking about it, or the little sketch they found at an antique fair. Those are the pieces people ask about. Those are the things that start conversations.

If you can afford to buy original art from an artist you love, wonderful. But don’t feel like you have to spend thousands to build a collection. Some of my favourite pieces have come from flea markets, independent artists and on my travels, I’d probably never find again. I’d much rather walk into a home and ask “where did you find that?” than recognise every piece because it’s from the same website.

Collect slowly. Let your walls tell your story rather than someone else’s. I promise your home will feel richer for it.

4. Find the golden thread.

This is the one nobody really talks about, but I think it’s one of the biggest differences between a home that feels professionally designed and one that doesn’t.

Have you ever walked into a house where you love the living room, then you walk into the bathroom and it feels like it’s in a completely different house? Then the bedroom has gone off in another direction again. Individually, every room is lovely. Together... they don’t quite make sense.

The best homes always have what I call a golden thread. It might be a colour that quietly appears from room to room. The same brass running through the ironmongery, taps and light switches. Or maybe it’s just a similar tone or mood. It’s not something you’d necessarily notice straight away, but you’d definitely notice if it wasn’t there.

That doesn’t mean every room should look the same. Please don’t do that. Every space should have its own personality. But they should still feel like they’re all part of the same story.

It’s one of those things that’s almost impossible to explain until you see it, and then you’ll never stop noticing it. Sorry about that.

See you in the next one.

Lydia x

This is House Rules — a recurring series on the details that make a home. If you enjoyed it, there’s a subscribe button around here somewhere, and Part Two is already brewing.

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My friend Caity married Valdo in the beautiful vineyard of Quinta Dos Santos. I met Caity whilst studying interior architecture, and we’re among the few from our degree who actually ended up in the industry. We spent the rest of the trip bathing in the crystal-clear sea, pottery shop exploring , and eating far too much seafood. Oh, and I was my husband’s caddy. That’s always the deal when I drag him away.

It was meant to be a proper switch-off. But lo and behold, something landed in the studio lap: a “quick” turnaround project, two show homes in East London, with about three weeks to pull it together. And me being the forever optimist, I welcomed it with open arms.

I thrive off being busy. I always have. “Off” isn’t really a word we’ve known for about two years. So there I was, on a sunlounger, laptop open, deep in a procurement mission, while my team back in the UK managed the logistics, pulled favours from suppliers and kept our other projects in order.

From the outside, interior design is a fabulous, sexy, “cool girl” career. The projects, events, travel, and the beautifully finished rooms. Whilst it’s all those things. It’s also a huge amount of managing, problem-solving, all whilst trying to keep your creative juices flowing.

East London’s 2 new show homes.

From design to sign off to the FF&E funds landing in our account, we had just 10 days to pull the whole thing together. That’s all procurement, getting all FF&E sent to our storage company and then installing. We were told the apartments would be handed over finished and cleaned, ready for us to wave our interior designer wand.

They were not.

The decorators were still painting, and the rooms needed a good clean. The first two days were spent simply bringing boxes in. It was on the third day that we could start installing. Luckily, we had the big, burly team at Henley Shipping to help us.

Oh... and because apparently we hadn’t been challenged enough already, London decided to throw in a 34-degree heatwave. Hard hats, steel-toe boots and hi-vis are many things, but breathable isn’t one of them. So you can imagine those extra layers were really helping us with the excessive sweating.

You can have every single thing prepared from your side. Every box labelled, every supplier in your corner, every delivery timed to perfection. And some things will still go sideways, because so much of it is simply out of your hands. That’s the job, and knowing that is half of doing it well.

The rest of it

Away from East London, June was the usual beautiful chaos.

Our Surrey project, 18 months in the making, is finally coming to the end of its snagging. It’s a real treat of a house, and I can’t wait to get it shot in late summer. There are always a handful of tiny things that linger right at the end, if anyone knows the secret to getting suppliers back to finish the final 2% of a project, I’m all ears. Same story with our Buckinghamshire project.

There was a pitch for a potential new client in Putney, and plenty of showrooms and shops scattered along the way. A shout-out to Marks & Spencer’s homeware, can we all just agree they’ve absolutely nailed it recently?

So — that was June

Amongst the madness, there were sunny walks, a beautiful wedding, time with family and friends, and a fair amount of lying on the floor trying to stay cool, and an entirely acceptable amount of ice cream.

Busy. Sweaty. Occasionally chaotic. Exactly how I like it.

Lydia x

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Who even is she?

I’m Lydia. I’ve been an interior designer for 11 years, 6 of them running my own studio. I’ve worked on Georgian townhouses filled with antiques, extravagant flats in Moscow, high-end homes in London, homes for clients whose taste was nothing like mine until they completely changed how I see things. My style has been shaped, rebuilt, and shaped again by every project I’ve ever touched.

There are approximately 9 million posts on TikTok with the #interiordesign, everyone has an opinion about your sofa, what they find incredibly “chic”. And here I am, adding myself to the pile. Another interior designer telling you which shade of green to use in your kitchen.

So why listen to little old me?

Because I’m quite good at finding things. Restaurants. Hotels. That weird vintage chair you can’t stop thinking about. And what I’m even better at is finding affordable furniture that doesn’t look it. I am a genuinely unhinged researcher across the web.

People are forever asking me, “How did you find that place?” or “Where’s that from?” So let me share all my dirty little secrets with you.

This is also not a museum of a perfect life. I get it wrong. Things break on site. My camera roll is 90% plasterboard. I love hiking, holidays, good food and terrible television. I’m another basic B****, I just happen to know where to buy a really good lamp.

What to expect?

Interiors, honest opinions, the stuff I’d usually only tell clients, what’s worth the money and what isn’t. Travel and the places I’m desperate to go. Things I’m buying and loving. The occasional strong opinion (we’ll get to boucle). And the behind-the-scenes of building House L, which has been living in storage and in my head for two years and is finally seeing the light.

Welcome to House L Notes. I’m really glad you’re here.

Lydia x