Every now and then, I imagine living in a neutral palette of greys, browns and eighteen shades of white. We visited Mjolk on the weekend where the aesthetic is so beautiful in its restraint. Understated, exquisitely crafted sofas, tables and chairs in mellow hues and various shades of wood. We were inspired. But sharpie stains, sticky, chocolately fingers and little boys who leap off furniture like they’re escaping from an exploding Krypton, squelch the idea of a barely pink sofa on a cream Berber rug. And really, who am I kidding? I appreciate neutrals, but my soul is technicolour.