7 things I really want for my (new) home
tried to live in the moment, failed miserably, and enjoyed every moment of it.
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It doesn’t come naturally to me. As much as I aspire to be one of those centred and zen ‘what will be, will be’ people- comfortable in uncomfortable situations- I am not part of the gang. I’m impatient and want to get going immediately.
But I do try. I keep telling myself to live in the present, not wish my life away, enjoy the current moment, make the most of life right now. Some days it’s easier than others.
Sometimes I catch myself just waiting for time to pass.
This week has been especially challenging, and I’ve found myself procrastinating and unable to get started on anything. Writing this newsletter has been on my to-do list since Tuesday, and here I am - Friday afternoon - typing away, not even on the topic I’d planned to write about. I’m too distracted to concentrate.
I wake up with a long list of things to do but end up not getting anything done. I keep getting sidetracked, half-heartedly starting things, and then feeling guilty for not finishing any of them.
All I can think about is that we might be exchanging contracts on the new house next week.
Maybe.
If you follow my YouTube, you’ll know this isn’t the first, or even the second, time we’ve been close to finalising the sale of our current house and the purchase of the new one. So I’m feeling nervously optimistic that the third time’s the charm.
As I’ve clearly failed to live my life like someone who might not be moving house in the next few weeks, I gave myself permission to go all out, lean into the future, and daydream wildly. I made moodboards. I scrolled through all my favourite home shops.
And I enjoyed every moment of my not living in the moment.
7 things I really want for my (new) home
It’s a lifelong affliction, this interiors thing. I come from a long line of makers and crafters - people for whom making things is practically their love language. I’m convinced the smell of sawdust and Danish oil is woven into my DNA. My childhood memories are a blur of making things: dens both indoors and outdoors, clothes for dolls, clay tea sets for my beloved Barbies.
So really, it's no surprise that my heart is already making the house a home. A home that, in my mind, is already filled with soft velvet and wobbly ceramics and lamps everywhere.
So here it is, then. A completely unreasonable edit of the things I want for my future crumbling Georgian manor.
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1. Rechargeable lamps: for the corners electricity forgot
When you are in the process of buying a house that has not got exactly state-of-the-art type of electrics and having even one plug in the room feels luxurious, rechargeable lights are the most brilliant invention ever.
Let me tell you, I am deeply invested in the fantasy of being the sort of woman who reads in a window seat, wrapped in a quilt, lit gently by the soft glow of a brass-based lamp that doesn't require a single plug socket. These rechargeable wonders from Pooky are, frankly, a revelation.
Whether it’s the wicker-shaded wall light (giving ‘Provence meets posh pub loo’ in the best way), or the pleated green shade perched like a little hat on its elegant stem, they all have that signature Pooky mix of playfulness and polish. And no wiring needed.
2. Velvet arm chair: for decadent loafing and mole-back fantasies
After a few years of politely declining anything velvet, I’ve found myself falling hard for it all over again. Especially in this deep, enveloping red -rich, a bit theatrical, but in a “let’s open a bottle at four” sort of way.
There’s something so impossibly tactile about velvet. That soft, matte sheen, like it’s been brushed in one direction by a very dedicated Victorian butler. It’s the exact texture I imagine a mole’s back might have -if moles were into interiors and mid-century shapes. I picture this chair in a corner with a reading light, a discarded cashmere blanket, and an unread copy of The Paris Review.
A chair not just to sit in, but to drape oneself across with feeling.
3. The parasol: because every antique garden set deserves a little flair
I’ll be haunting the antique markets before the ink’s dry on the house purchase paperwork - on the hunt for rusting-but-romantic garden furniture that looks like it’s been abandoned on a French veranda since 1892. Think curling metalwork, chipped paint in the prettiest shades of nothingness, and sun loungers that look like they belong in a slightly haunted Edwardian spa.
But of course, no vintage garden fantasy is complete without a parasol with presence. And this one is just the thing. With its scalloped edge and cheerful-but-chic print, it looks like it should be shading someone eating gooseberry fool in a Nancy Mitford novel. It’s the kind of detail that makes you believe your overgrown lawn is actually a wildflower meadow and your mismatched crockery is charming, not chaotic.
A little glamour, a little shade, and just the right amount of whimsy.
4. A fresh start: Sicilian orange everything
The house has been empty for over a year, and unloved for considerably longer. The air inside has that sad, slightly sour smell of old curtains and forgotten radiators. Our very first task (right after changing the locks and performing a mild exorcism) will be to throw open every sash window, light every fire and let the place breathe.
Ventilation is the unsung hero of home restoration. Poor air circulation is a gateway drug to horrors like black mould and dry rot—neither of which I fancy sharing a postcode with, let alone a bedroom. So along with a thorough airing, I’m calling in olfactory reinforcements.
Enter Sicilian Orange range from The White Company—my chosen scent for day one. It’s fresh, zesty with orange, ginger and sandalwood in the mix. The candle feels like lighting a match to the old energy, and the diffuser quietly does the good work of making everything feel instantly cleaner and fresher. Like a deep breath with sunshine in it.
5. Floral crockery
There’s something about blue and white floral crockery that makes my soul exhale. Perhaps it’s the nostalgia of tea with grandparents, perhaps it’s the quiet poetry of a bowl that looks like it’s witnessed generations of apple crumbles. Either way, I want the full set. Every size, every scallop, every saucer.
This particular range hits that perfect sweet spot between vintage-inspired and “actually microwave-safe,” which is a minor miracle.
I want to stack them high in a glass-fronted cupboard. I want to eat toast from them. I want to serve something bubbling in the matching tureen.
In short: can I have the full set, please?
6. Rattan console table
This little rattan console table has completely stolen my heart. There’s something about the scalloped trim that feels both charming and slightly smug, like it knows it's the prettiest piece in the hallway. I love how it brings warmth and texture without trying too hard—like the interior equivalent of linen trousers on a good day.
It’s light and lovely, but with just enough shape to hold its own next to more serious furniture. I’m picturing it just inside the landing, stacked with rotating cast of half-wilted flowers. Or maybe under a window with a vintage lamp and a vase full of cow parsley, quietly pretending it’s summer all year round.
This one feels like the sort of purchase that says, “I have a vision, and it involves wicker.”
7. Gingham bedding: cottagecore, but make it calm
There’s something about gingham bedding that just feels right for a house in the country. It’s soft, nostalgic, and ever-so-slightly flirtatious—like the textile equivalent of a raised eyebrow. This beige-y taupe version is especially lovely: no picnic table vibes here, just calm, cosy cottagecore for grown-ups.
I imagine it in the spare room with creaky floorboards and a chipped bedside table, or on my own bed with a pile of books and a mug of steaming tea. It’s the kind of set that makes you want to turn in early—not because you’re tired, but because your bed is that inviting.
Crisp, cottony, and just the right level of lived-in. Perfect for long lie-ins and short naps and everything in between.
So there you have it- my not-yet-home, already half-furnished in my mind and several online baskets. It’s part wishlist, part coping mechanism, part joyful imagining of the life I hope we’ll grow into, creaky floorboards and all.
I know we’ve got walls to strip, windows to mend, and almost certainly a said mould to evict. But in the meantime, it’s comforting to dream in lampshades and linen and say things like “oh yes, that would work in the back parlour,” even though we don’t technically have one yet.
If you’ve got a favourite piece, a brand you swear by, or a house dream of your own simmering away, I’d love to hear it. Just hit reply or leave a comment below. After all, furnishing a fantasy is always more fun with company.
Susanna xx
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