As kids, our costumes were never shop bought. Halloween was a cobbled together affair with ghosts fashioned from old sheets and bin liners doubling as bat wings. My mum turned the kitchen into a witch’s grotto complete with pumpkins, candles, and fairy lights while all the kids piled in with sheets on their heads to bob for apples. It was all so messy and fun and makeshift; nothing like the elaborate decor and costumes you see in shops and houses today. Last week, Jason went to four different Sprit of Halloween stores to find a blue M&M costume. Red, yellow and pink would not do. So this year, I’m determined not to spend another penny on plastic rats and purple cobwebs. I’m throwing a ‘bloody’ sheet over the boxwoods and calling it a day.

People who know me know that I take sinks quite seriously. We have a marble one in our kitchen that’s large enough to wash a Guinea Hog in. This one below, in a farmhouse designed by Amber Lewis, is pretty stunning. I love that it’s shallow, and that the rough texture works so well against the lustre of brass taps. This is a laundry room. Pairing up socks just got a whole lot less choresome.

A beautiful stone facade in Zaria, one of the oldest Hausa cities in the Northern Nigeria.

Wayne Thiebaud’s cakes.

Matilda Goad’s fabulous kitchen.

Brenda Holzke’s fantastic black and white forms.

A small, uninhabited island (Lítla Dímun) in the Faroe Islands, often covered by a cloud of its own.

Let’s all paint our ceilings like Casa Taberelli‘s. Ensconced in the tiny northern vineyard village of Cornaiano is architect, Carlo Scarpa’s great masterpiece. The ceilings look like Rothkos. Oh, to have the chutzpah to bring a mustard brush to one’s ceiling. It’s daring, it’s original, and I love it.