The Pre-Renovation Fantasy

Pinterest and dreaming before reality arrives

We are in a specific window of time before this renovation really starts, where everything feels possible. It feels as though the house has been waiting for exactly us to arrive and make the obvious improvements it needs to become a functional family home.

The house requires careful restoration to make it watertight and warm. Budgets are tight. Everything non-essential will have to wait. And yet - Pinterest is very persuasive.

Light-filled kitchens with aged stone floors and enormous farmhouse tables. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Tobacco-coloured walls. Rugs layered over rugs. Lamps instead of spotlights. Rooms that look as though they have been assembled slowly and carefully rather than installed.

Every image is calm and symmetrical. No visible damp. No conservation officer reviewing lamb’s tongue glazing bars (which are very beautiful and will be restored meticulously, but you get my point).

'Animals in the kitchen' appears to be coming through as a strong theme...

When I can’t sleep, my latest comfort is imagining Fred and Quinn’s future bedroom in minute detail. I take myself on a flash-forward tour: a door knob that feels satisfying in the hand, a pair of mismatched old pine sleigh beds, a big bookshelf, a chair to sink into for stories. Perhaps the window frame in a glossy postbox-red, a squishy window seat underneath for daydreaming (their bedroom at the top of the house has the best view of all).

The fantasy is very specific - and it definitely helps lull me to sleep.

But then when I wake I remember: we are currently budgeting for drainage.

The romance of a project never includes the sentence, “We’ll need to reroute the downpipes and install additional soakaways.” But here we are.

The first year of loving this house will be mostly invisible. Roof structure. Repointing in lime. Insulation and plaster that breathe. Heating that works. Electrical wiring that doesn’t belong to a different century. All of it expensive and necessary. None of it remotely pin-worthy.

And yet the Pinterest fantasy persists.

Currently considering: how to go bold with colour, but make it feel in keeping

I’ve realised that what I’m pinning isn’t objects, but atmosphere. It isn’t really about stone floors or big tables. It’s about light. Warmth. Rooms that feel settled. Evidence of time. Nothing trying too hard. A sense that a house has been allowed to be itself.

How do we create that feeling without pretending this is a different house? How do we lean into the undulating floors, the uneven walls and the wavy glass - rather than smoothing them away?

So our daydreaming has become a little more strategic. We've tried to move from imagining what could look like to considering what this house will actually allow.

It is less intoxicating than getting exactly what you think you want, but it feels more honest and more likely to last.

Anyone can fall in love with a mood board. Staying and committing when the work is invisible is something else.