I get to visit a lot of homes in my job and, increasingly, most of them have sock-off big extensions. HUGE. Especially, it seems, listed properties where the owners aren’t allowed to knock down internal walls with Kirstie Allsopp-grade fervour for fear of upsetting the woodworm or historians or whatevs. Course they are all to die for. But, over the years, one thing that has often struck me as sad is how the owners stop living in their old, original house. It’s just a thoroughfare to the bedrooms and, if they’re lucky, the downstairs lav.
Cutting to the point, the dining area of our kitchen-diner is not in the extension. It’s in the old living room but, this is the clever bit *smug high-five*, we took the old sliding patio…
