Small-space living and how our homes can heal us

A nostalgic ode to my tiny flat in Hampstead, and a few ways I made it nice

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I finish a last-minute vacuum now that the floors are totally clear, and peer down at the man with a van leaning impatiently over the steering wheel. I linger a moment, taking in the white walls that were the quiet witness to it all.

The up-and-out mornings cycling down to the Paddington office, the video calls slumped at the dining table about what did well last week, Hello Fresh dinners for two, for one, 30 days of yoga with Adriene. Steaming coffees and croissants with Chris, Oxfam books filling up the shelves, Christmas eve margaritas and arm wrestles, pasta with Rossella, late night showers on Tuesdays after running club.

I scan the shelves, bare now, and the miraculously generous storage cupboards relieved of my clutter. The naked metal fold-out bedframe. I drop the keys on the wooden, foldable table I’d planned to get rid of – ‘Original…’ the elderly Italian landlady had countered. And I say goodbye to the tiny kitchen with its creaky floorboard, dodgy blind and miniature washing machine (I can still smell it), and the watermark in the corner from some ancient leak.

The sound of my upstairs neighbour pulling the plug of her nightly bath was always comforting in its regularity as I drifted off to sleep, the rush of water making its way down the pipes. Loud groups of friends would spill off the heath after lazy summer days, forgetting to use their street voices. This didn’t bother me either. Neither did the absent-minded humming of the fridge as I slept, nor the subdued conversations emanating from somewhere in the building that I could never quite place.

Beyond the large windows towering over Willoughby Road, planes pierced the sky in the afternoon glow. I remember looking at my time in the flat with rose-tinted glasses before it was even over. A kind of pre-nostalgia as it happened. What made it so special was that it really couldn’t last forever.

I put up shelves, lugging MDF back from B&Q in an Uber, became a regular at the local hardware store, changed the curtains, threw down rugs, hung a homemade wall tapestry, decorated with houseplants and artwork, rationalised the kitchen cupboards and kept it all semi-clean and tidy. There was always more I could have tended to, but then it was time to get going again.

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I just checked my camera roll, and it’s exactly two years today since I moved into my studio flat in Hampstead. Never a financially prudent move, but it was very ‘healing.’ After doing my time in house shares, and then moving out following a breakup, this home of my own was a particularly significant one.

One I was chuffed to come home to every single day, bounding down Hampstead high street, past the crepe stand, turning the corner at Snappy Snaps, and climbing its stone steps. Not just because of the abundant natural light and proximity to a Gail’s, but because it was symbolic of me looking after myself and investing in the present. I’d fought hard to get there.

Our homes are more than a place to slump into after a day at work, and for me this home took my hand, pulled me up, and gently let go again when I was ready.

The shelves were the main attraction in the studio space, and the viewpoint from the bed, so I spent hours looking at it. I passed an entire afternoon listening to Abigail Ahern being interviewed and arranging the shelves with little vignettes. More effort and time went into this than you’d expect.

I liked how the books fitted neatly on the top shelf, and I arranged items of contrasting textures (e.g. steel Moka coffee pot with glass Bovril jar, ceramic pot). I put similar shapes together, like the rounded leaves of the money plant next to bubble candle and the oil burner with its circular form. The tall candles layered over the print of Bologna’s due torri. Etc etc.

In the absence of a sofa, many hours were spent here. I think this image very nearly made the cut for an article once, but wasn’t quite nice enough, lol.

A picture of a neighbour’s questionable use of the big light, sent to Megan on Whatsapp at 22:19 in April 2023.

What a lot of my days actually looked like, feat. Valentine’s day card from Mum.

The flat did ‘Christmas mode’ very well, I loved the eucalyptus and red berries from Columbia Road flower market.

Cam bringing the festive spirit.

Me on my first morning in the flat, feeling a million percent relieved. There was no hot water and a hundred things to do, but the sun was shining.

There were some good skies.

Big days.

Messy, chaotic, frayed-at-the edges days. (I wrote about the day when Feng Shui expert Suzanne Roynon came over and helped me to declutter, which you can read here. That’s still one of my favourite features I’ve ever written.)

And hopeful days.