I’ve always loved white houses, especially the ones around Belgravia that look like wedding cakes, with their Corinthian columns and grand terraces. When I lived in London, I knew a girl who lived in a house that was as large and fancy and creamy as a wedding cake. I remember going there once or twice in my teens, and feeling like I was walking into the White House. Annie had big, bouncy curls and wore a court jester’s hat, and unlike the exterior of her home, she was far from traditional. I wish I could remember more about the interior, but I do recall a claret coloured wall covered in Annie’s Picasso inspired plates. I have loved white houses ever since, with or without the picket fence.