When artist Bridie Hall found herself newly single and living alone at the age of 36, she had an interior design epiphany: she didn’t need to compromise for anyone. Out went the aesthetic of the home she’d shared with her former partner of 12 years – “natural grey walls throughout”, with spare rooms for their friends and family (“dead space”, as she describes it) – in came a space designed by, and for, her.
Eight years on, Bridie’s museum-inspired three-bed home in north London is a colourful wonderland. On the red-and-white painted chequerboard kitchen floor, her pet tortoises, Mayhem and Sir David, roam free; there are miscellaneous ceramics from her co-owned homewares store, Pentreath & Hall; and wooden cabinets painted in shades like pear-green and mustard yellow. The two would-be spare rooms have been transformed into, respectively, a dressing room and an artist’s studio. “It’s a space that nurtures me,” she says. “I use every room – and keep all the doors open. Everything is laid out ready for me.”
Like Bridie, I’m one of the UK’s 8.3 million “live-aloners” (predicted to rise to 10.7 million by 2039). Some 25.8 per cent of homes in London – where I live – are single-person households. Yet, designing for one has been a freedom I’ve been slower to realise. Having initially been shared with an ex-partner, my home still bears the telltale marks of a space for two. Like the jilted Miss Havisham – with her decaying wedding cake dominating her dining room – my too-big bed has long been flanked by twin bedside tables and lamps; my cupboards stuffed with matching pairs of crockery and family sets of dinnerware. Unwittingly, I was accommodating for an absent, or future, other half.
