Every respectable manor has its household.
So before we begin documenting questionable decorating decisions, charity-shop treasures, DIY disasters, old-house quirks and the gradual transformation of a perfectly normal home into something altogether stranger, it seems only polite to introduce the residents.
Lady of the Not-Quite-a-Manor
That would be me….Sammie.
Chief decorator, charity-shop rummager, purchaser of suspicious-looking antiques and the person most likely to announce that a perfectly ordinary piece of furniture would look better painted black.
I am responsible for the general transformation of Everstead from respectable family home into something a little more eccentric, collected and quite possibly haunted.
My decorating philosophy sits somewhere around Victorian manor meets luxury eccentric, with enough skulls, old frames and peculiar objects to make visitors wonder whether they should ask questions.
Usually they shouldn’t.
The Gentleman of the House
Joel.
Long-suffering partner, practical department, chief lifter of furniture and the man regularly presented with Facebook Marketplace listings or charity shop bargains accompanied by the words:
“Look what I found.”
He is considerably more sensible than I am, which is useful when you live with someone who thinks buying a vaguely sinister cabinet for £50 constitutes an emergency.
He has, however, become alarmingly accepting of all this and very apt at booking and driving Evie vans all over the island to collect my latest must have item!
I fear Everstead is getting to him.
The Young Miss
The elder of Everstead’s younger residents.
Owner of the upper reaches of the house, possessor of strong opinions about interior design and entirely capable of vetoing furniture on sight.
She brings a considerably more modern influence to proceedings, although I remain confident that prolonged exposure to Everstead will eventually result in an appreciation for velvet, old portraits and objects with questionable provenance she is my daughter after all!
The Young Master
The smaller gentleman of the household, and Joel’s son.
Football enthusiast, bringer of chaos and currently rather less interested in Victorian interiors than whether there is sufficient room to kick a ball.
An important member of the Everstead testing committee nonetheless.
If something survives him, it is probably structurally sound.
Her Feline Ladyship
Lets be clear….the cat owns the joint.
We just live here.
She patrols Everstead as though the property has belonged to her family for several generations and we are merely temporary staff brought in to provide food.
Frankly, this may be accurate.
Clarence
And then there is Clarence, my most trusted advisor and artist of the non real life pictures that accompany this blog.
Keeper of questionable ideas, encourager of haunted antiques and the voice I consult whenever I am deciding whether a room needs another skull or a locket containing a dead strangers hair….The answer is usually yes.
He does not technically reside at Everstead, but considering the amount of influence he has over proceedings, I feel he deserves a place on the household roll.
And Then There’s Everstead
Because frankly, the house is already becoming a character in its own right.
It creaks. It sulks. It reveals things in cupboards and garages at inconvenient moments. It appears to have very firm opinions about what we should spend our weekends repairing.
We have only just begun.
There are rooms to decorate, things to restore, things we will almost certainly make worse before making better, and a steadily growing collection of objects that look as though they may have witnessed something.
So there we are.
Two adults, two children, one cat, one mysterious advisor and a house with ideas above its station.
The manor may still be imaginary.
But the household is very real.
Welcome to Everstead.
