The tiny apartment

This post is part of a series on homes that inspire me, as part of mulling over what my dream house looks like and to help motivate my decluttering. Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

So far, most of the homes I've shared with you have been purpose-built, painstakingly designed and constructed with intention, reflecting the values and practices of the people living in them. Many are designed to make efficient use of limited space, with clever hidden storage.

Today, I am looking at the experiences of a young couple living in a rented city flat. And somehow they've made it so beautiful, I'm looking at the pictures feeling deeply envious at the sense of simplicity they've created.

These experiences are documented in by Erin in her blog - reading my tea leaves - which includes a running list (93 and counting) of survival tips for tiny apartments. I thoroughly recommend taking a dive into the archives of this, I'm finding it very interesting food for thought. There are a few points that have really resonated with me:

Source: readingmytealeaves

White. White everywhere. White walls, white doors, white cupboards, white sheets on the bed. I always used to think white was boring, that I didn't like spaces painted white. Between Erin's flat and Carmella's cabin, I'm realising that white means a calmer, more coherent background against which your best-loved items just sing.

Even cleaning tools should be aesthetically pleasing. This is something of a revelation for me - of course! Why shouldn't you have scrubbing brushes with an elegance and simplicity, instead of a cracked neon yellow plastic monstrosity?

 

Source: readingmytealeaves 

Things are more fixable than you think. I'm embarrassingly nervous about DIY - I've never done it and I'm terrified of doing it wrong, even painting a table would freak me out, but Erin is clearly the kind of person who rolls up her sleeves and gets to work with the screwdriver/paintbrush/etc. This is definitely something I want to challenge myself to have a go at... if only I knew where to start...

Source: readingmytealeaves

And finally - I really need to clean my windows.

Pictures from http://www.readingmytealeaves.com/ used by kind permission.

A narrowboat

Following on from some previous posts (here, here and here) about living in small spaces and homes built using natural materials, I'm going to share a space from my childhood. We used it for holidays rather than living in it full time, but I keep thinking about it as I ponder efficient use of space, and the qualities I want from that space.

We used to have a part share in a narrowboat, which meant we split the maintainance costs with several other families and had three weeks or so a year on the boat. I absolutely loved it! And not just in the warmth of summer - we also spent time on the boat as late as November and as early as February.

We had plenty of mod cons - cooker, oven, even a bathtub. Beds for everyone which folded away in the day (the bed I slept on became an L-shaped sofa in the day, with a collapsible table to turn it into a dining space.) The space use was super efficient, with cunning storage area hidden in walls, floors, under seats. Everything also had to be very secure, in case the boat rocked, so things were always shut out of sight. There was still space for a solid fuel stove, and you can just imagine how cosy it was to snuggle under one of the duvets in front of the fire as the nights drew in. I particularly loved the sound of rain on the roof.

I didn't take many pictures of inside the boat, but here you can see the kitchen beyond the bed - this space became living/dining area in the day.

Being on a boat (even for a  few days), you really have to think about the things you use, and the waste you produce. Everything has to be brought on the boat and taken off it. You take short showers, turn lights off, and use as little loo paper as possible to prevent blocking the tank. The rubbish bin is a plastic bag hanging on a hook in the kitchen. You're more in touch with how life's comforts are delivered - I have clear memories of several mornings/nights waking up freezing around 5am and going out onto the bow to change the gas bottle to restart the heating. (Before you ask, at this point I was around 17 in age so mucked in with the chores along with everyone else, especially as my father has a back condition which means it is painful for him to lift any weight.)

However, what I love most about narrowboats is the way they bring the outside in. Precisely because it is so narrow, with windows on every side (even if just little portholes), you can always see outside. Always, whichever direction you look in. The boat is small inside but also has outdoor space at either end and along the roof, where my sister and I often used to sit on a summer evening reading books and taking pictures of the sunset. Sometimes we stayed there while the boat was moving, and had to listen out for the cry of 'bridge', whereupon we would lie down flat and watch the underside of the bridge pass just above our heads.

A narrowboat travels at around three miles an hour - a comfortable walking pace, and I would often walk along beside the boat with my mother, jumping on and off the boat with ropes as we went through locks. The whole pace of life on the canals is slower, and friendlier - in the years that we used the boat, we only ever once passed a boat whose crew did not greet us as we passed. Everyone says hello and often exchanges a few pleasantries about the weather or the nearest pub on the canals - the boaters, walkers, anglers and others. When you add to this that the canals are beautiful, passing through some of the loveliest areas of the country, and you can moor up anywhere along the paths, you can easily imagine a gentle evening sunset over a boat moored next to a field full of sheep, with no sound but birdsong and the sheep bleating. I would love to live along the canals for precisely this tranquility.

Before I met my boyfriend, my immediate life plan was to live on a boat. They are much cheaper to buy than a house and the UK network gives you access to many major towns and cities, including central London, but the major problem with this is that moorings near major towns and cities are seriously expensive. I don't think liveaboard life is an option at this moment in time but it may well be again in the future. In the meantime, perhaps I can tap into some of the tricks and tips and joys of my time on narrowboats?

A minimalist cabin

This post is part of a series on homes that inspire me, as part of mulling over what my dream house looks like. Part One | Part Two

After losing pretty much everything in the economic crash and housing bubble burst, Carmella and her husband found themselves without a home and without jobs. Cue a serious rethink about what they wanted from life and a relocation. But they needed somewhere to live, a transportable habitat (I can't bring myself to refer to this lovely cabin as a 'mobile home') to house themselves and their family.

So they designed a small wooden cabin, just 62 square meters (or 665 sq ft to those of you on Imperial). And somehow - how how how?? - they fit two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a spacious living room with  a kitchen and a dining area. The whole house is wood painted white, it looks so light and spacious, and all the little design touches are so intentional, so beautiful, so much an expression of this family and what they have chosen to bring with them. They've clearly had a difficult journey but they've also clearly built themselves a truly lovely home.

 

Even the end table has a really lovely story of its own. I've always dreamed of living in a home where every single thing has a story to tell, and they are living exactly that. It is possible!! Who knew?

I am so impressed and intrigued by how they manage to use space so effectively, to get so much valuable living area and so much clever storage and room for a family with kids in a space that is smaller than my flat. How much comes down to the design and layout of the space itself, and how much to how you use it? This cabin makes me wonder how much more I could do with the space we have.

They've also brought this in for a very small budget. That kitchen counter? It might look like soapstone but it's plain old plywood, with clever paint treatment. All over the house there are clever tricks and tips that turn normally unused space into functional design features, like the blackboard panel over the electric fuse box, or the specially designed cupboard over the fridge which holds baking trays and tools.

You can read all about their story, and enjoy the gorgeous photographs of their lovely home, on their blog. (If you can't follow the link, it's called Assortment. Google it already.) All photos are from the blog, used by kind permission, and I really urge you to go browse and take a look. The cabin has also just featured on the cover of Country Living, so there are even more lovely photos over there. If you're inspired to build your own house along the same lines, they do even share the plans...

Clarifying the goal and a cob bungalow

This is home - for now.

This lovely flat, much as I enjoy living here, it not where we expect to be for the rest of our lives. We regularly discuss our plans for the future, for the next stages of our lives. There's definitely children in there somewhere - how many not yet defined, but even a cursory glance at my boyfriend's family tree suggests the odds are extremely good on having boys - and there's another home.

This flat suits us well for now and has more than enough space. With a second bedroom, we have the luxury of having guests to stay now, and potentially of holding a child or children if and when they come along. It wouldn't hold a family with teenagers, though, and in our heart of hearts we both want something slightly different. Not necessarily bigger, but with a different space distribution. A bigger kitchen, more outdoor space (ideally a garden), and enough bedroom capacity to hold at least four fully grown humans.

What I want to avoid, though, is falling into the trap of believing that we need more. More space, more bedrooms, more bathrooms. There are therefore two skills we need to improve on before we get to that point. (Or more honestly, I need to improve on.) These are: having less stuff, and using space more effectively. Hence the decluttering, the focus on finding and making possessions with meaning rather than acquiring them thoughtlessly.

I would like to share some inspirational homes which are demonstrating just how possible it is to have a beautiful, personal, nourishing family home with limited space and expenditure.

An earth bungalow

 
Photos from www.telegraph.co.uk

A retired teacher in Oxfordshire built a cob house in his backgarden. Just to prove it could be done. It went slightly over budget and ended up costing him £150. You want to talk raw local natural materials? I have to say I would prefer somewhere with running water and an indoor toilet (not necessarily flushing, though - a composting toilet would suit me fine!) but just looking at these pictures is an enriching experience. This is definitely a house with a soul. (Entertainingly, the house is now let out to a tenant who pays the rent in milk) Please click here to read more.

I love cob as a building material. It's a mixture of soil, sand, straw and clay, and it naturally breathes, providing a home with clean air that is warm in winter and cool in summer. (Neat, huh?) The lime plaster and paint you need to use to allow the cob to breathe and prevent moisture from building up in the walls gives them a beautiful buttermilk yellow colour which I think is just gorgeous. And who doesn't love thatch? Or log fires?

I particularly love the visible use of wood here, how you can see the beams from the roof construction, and the very organic shapes - the curves and unusually shaped windows. To get a window in cob, you pretty much just cut a hole, there's no need for lintels or anything like that, and you can build cob in the most fantastic shapes - not just box houses but any-shape-you-want houses. I love the idea of a building material that can be used so creatively and expressively.