Category: Blog posts

These are the good times

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It feels important to try and acknowledge in the moment when something is good. Too often we can get caught up in the business of finding reasons not to be cheerful, as though in grumbling about minor issues we can ward off the really bad ones. I’m in another transition phase at the moment and in that shift it’s given me opportunity to pause and feel greatful.

It’s partly a transition time because I’ve been spending lots of time on a couple of non-PhD projects I’ve been working on, and I’m back to just focusing on my PhD. They have been related to my PhD so it’s not a total shift but still, they weren’t entirely filed under PhD work. I put in a big old shift over the weekend on one of them so it felt like I was coming back to work this week for a bit of a rest.

Even if I hadn’t been working on some other projects it would be a transitional phase at the moment in any case because ethics approval has been granted. My project is officially ethical!

Given how much I have enjoyed the ethics framing I’m not surprised to find myself feeling quite touched by that approval.

More tangibly, it means that I can now start to officially talk to people and do the more direct data collection activities. I’d already made a start on some aspects of the research alongside my literature review, collecting together and starting to review cultural materials and existing government and industry reports. I’ve also done some study dates, such as the ones to Sambourne House and Tate Britain and a couple of archive visits. So it’s not like that part of it hasn’t been happening at all, again not a total transition.

It feels very different getting to speak to people or send out surveys directly, rather than relying upon existing materials though. A classic part of the research and PhD process. It feels like it has been a long time coming but then this is a marathon not a sprint so perhaps that’s not so surprising after all.

And it’s exciting to imagine what I might find. Fun to not be able to entirely predict how something is going to unfold and where it might lead. Privileged to be able to do it at all, I mean really, what an absolute privilege to have made this space for myself, to be able to back myself to explore and try something different.

It’s good sometimes to be able to sit with that and cherish it. Not just to rush through the moments. To try and notice as it something shifts, or when something is good and feels full of possibility or even when the possibility is getting translated into something more tangible. Allowing those moments to get consciously stashed away. Not to artificially extend it but to pay some attention, give a sense of gratitude and acknowledgement and then go back to the thing itself. Which seems a fitting note to end on, as I then turn to putting together my survey to pilot…

The power of one

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For all of the talk of relational approaches to increasing the take-up of energy or environmental measures, I was struck when hearing a friend’s recent account of home renovations about the limits to that approach.

Talking about my PhD can often lead to reflections from people about their own homes and experiences. One friend talked about how their plumber had done some research and come to the conclusion that heat pumps didn’t work unless the home is really well insulated. On that basis my friends ended up going ahead and getting their ailing boiler replaced with a new one, with lots of attendant disruption to have a more efficient system put in. They also had a builder who didn’t understand building physics and hadn’t raised any concerns when my friends wanted some air bricks covered up as part of works to replaster and repaint walls.

Had my friends got a plumber who had investigated and come to a different view, which is quite possible given the increasing number of use cases that are coming online of heat pumps performing well in inefficient buildings, they might have been persuaded to have a heat pump. Similarly, had they got a builder who had a better understanding of building physics, when there was a discussion about covering over air vents the builder should have raised the ventilation point. The builder might have explained the premise of the ventilation strategy the home was built with and suggested some alternative options if they did still decide to cover them over. They could also have suggested mitigations in rooms where previous owners had already covered over or removed air vents. Instead my friends randomly found out about the ventilation approach because the algorithm served up some information.

That reliance on others who are seeming experts and placing trust in their views is very in keeping with a relational approach. This holds that we make decisions on the basis of how the home will be for those we care about but also that trades-people can have a big impact on the choices people make. However these examples from my friends also seems to suggest it really depends who you get and there’s an element of luck in that currently. In the absence of requirements or an environment where information about how homes work is a foundational part of being a trades-person, for a relational approach to energy to work for good performance outcomes a higher basic level of knowledge is needed.

It was another reminder of how far away we are from that baseline situation now and how normal it is that builders don’t consistently have, or need to have, a holistic level of knowledge. There were lots of ways in which the builder seemed to have done a good job but those were in aspects that were more visible to my friends than the potential impact of closing up the ventilation would be, at least in the short term. If it is incumbent upon non-experts to be in a position to challenge experts that seems to be a situation which is unlikely to drive good behaviours, isn’t realistic or fair on those who are getting the work done and leads to a situation that looks much like the one we have now.

This suggests the relational approach can be important in helping people make decisions and there’s something valuable in focusing on that as a route to reach people. However, without improving the underpinning levels of knowledge it feels like there’s a real risk that approach will end up perpetuating the idea the building trade can’t be trusted and does poor work – this time more explicitly in relation to energy or environmental measures. In a sector which has issues around the quality of work done through government and energy obligation funded schemes, widening the range of tenures mistakes get made in doesn’t feel ideal. Finding a way to have improvements in generating demand – for instance through the relational approach – going hand in hand with work to improve the quality of the supply chain feels like a way to try and sustainably address issues in the round.

The Anna Karenina principle?

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I was reminded of the Tolstoy quote from Anna Karenina that ‘All happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way’ when thinking about the surprising absence so far in the novels I’m reading for my PhD. One of the strands of my research is looking at existing materials to try and get a perspective on homes and how they’ve been represented, what the view is on how to improve them or just what ‘good’ looks like. As part of this I’ve read a few novels, and have still lots more to read but I’ve been surprised not to have found many examples of ‘the ideal home’, or even ones which are very happy yet. In remembering the Tolstoy quote it made me wonder if there’s something inherent in novels that explains this lack, or whether it’s more a reflection of my limited reading so far.

The Anna Karenina principle takes the idea from Tolstoy and applies it more broadly, holding that there is only one way to achieve success in that the key factors need to be in place, but there are countless ways to fail. This principle has been applied in contexts as diverse as ecology, banking and the domestication of animals.

Turning to the novels, there are a few slightly oblique glimpses of homes that seem to be happy. The couple who have their home and themselves attacked by Alex and his droogs in Anthony Burgess’s ‘A clockwork orange’; the family home of one of the main characters in ‘Glass Houses’ by Francesca Reece – although that’s more how it is represented or seen through the eyes of a visitor than by the occupants. Maybe some traces in the Elizabeth Gaskell novel ‘Cranford’ – but even there it isn’t straightforward because of the financial concerns of many of the protagonists. Alice’s home in Sarah Moss’s ‘The Fell’ has some details in there about how she takes comfort from details around the place, yet there is also a real sense of her isolation as she is recovering from cancer alone in a time of pandemic.

Looking at the list of novels I’m still yet to explore, none of them jump out at me as being about homes that are harmonious, idyllic refuges. I might find some more representations of that in the surrounding characters but the central premise of many of the books is about the home as a site of, or representation of, things falling apart, disconnection and sadness.

Perhaps this is because fiction tends to have a narrative drive at the heart of it. A tension which needs to be resolved somehow, and so happiness can be less easy to place there because the ‘happy ever after’ is the end not the through-line. That there is something implied about unhappiness being ‘news’ or a step away from the norm of a happy home. The novel is then a way to show how the world could be, and is for many others with all of the pain and darkness that can bring. Allowing us to understand something we might not experience ourselves.

Or could it be that the home as an unhappy or unsafe place works as a plot device because it immediately enables the reader to compare the context to the idea and ideal of home. A difficult home context allows the reader to get a sense of the protagonist being in a bad place. This can make them more sympathetic to the character. It also makes it understandable the character would be seeking a way to improve their situation in a way the writer doesn’t need to explain as much as they might for some other choices or needs.

Of course it could also be because writers don’t see enough happy homes around the place to make them feel believable or true. Writing novels can be a way to draw attention to things that aren’t right. To reflect back things society needs to or isn’t engaging with. From Dickens and Hardy in Victorian times to the novels of the 2020’s, art and culture can offer insights to lives that are beyond our own, and empathy for them which makes taking action necessary. For the novels of the 2020’s on my reading list, without even having read most of them there’s a clear theme emerging around how precarious housing can be. From Ella Frears’ ‘Goodlord’ which takes the form of an extended email to an unscrupulous estate agent to Megan Nolan’s ‘Ordinary human failings’ about families in temporary accommodation, to the 2024 novels ‘I see buildings fall like lightning’ by Keiran Goddard and ‘The lodgers’ by Holly Pester, about a housing estate and the UK housing crisis respectively.

That leaves me wondering if it’s less of a surprise I’m not finding more happy homes in the novels. While the quote from Tolstoy helped shape that sense of surprise, the principle doesn’t feel quite right in terms of the view of home. It’s true that even in the 14 novels I’ve read so far I’ve loved the diversity of style, tone and characters – a huge range even as the subject itself remains fixed and the homes are largely unhappy. Yet while there are lots of commonalities in the factors constituting a happy home, the plurality of ways a good home can be made seems to undermine the principle from that direction.

Futures building

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For whatever reason, when I went to Futurebuild last week I found myself reflecting on the differences between this visit and my first one in 2007 – to EcoBuild as it was then known. Of course memory is notoriously fallible, so my sense of what was different and what felt the same is perhaps also a reflection of my current perceptions projecting onto the past. I was only there for one day, I had a mix of wandering around, going to talks, and talking to a few people so what follows is therefore a very unscientific impression of the things I saw and heard, an attempt to think about what’s changed and what remains the same.

Thinking about the differences between me then and now, I remembered how, the first time I went, I was there for all 3 days – running around like a child in a candy store, if by candy we mean heat interface units and insulation materials. The event was something I had been looking forward to for weeks, checking and re-checking the event listings to luxuriate in the anticipation. By early on the second day I had a good sense of where the freebies were and I would strategically do a walk-by here to get a snack, there to pick up a canvas bag and I half-remember getting a good stash of bottles of maple syrup.

I didn’t have a very clear agenda or priorities, I was just really interested in learning and open to finding out more about everything. Part of that was where I was in my role and career, trying to develop the sustainability agenda at the organisation I was working in – I had identified the gap and been given a little bit of space to develop proposals but without any kind of direction. I love that type opportunity but it felt like I wasn’t sure what it would look like or how I’d be able to contribute. It all felt quite new, hard to place much of the information in the broader context given I was learning as I went. I do remember that feeling of being very relieved to be away from the office and have some autonomy in my days though, and a sense of sadness as I wandered around as the exhibition closed down around me.

By contrast, last week I was able to make space to go for most but not all of one day. I had a brief look at what was on across the days and didn’t feel like any of the sessions were obviously super linked to my PhD – which made me a bit sad but also served as a reminder that hopefully my research will be useful for people. I ended up going on the day I did because it fitted in with other things that were going on work-wise and because an out of town friend of mine was due to be on a panel that day so I would be able to catch up with him. I still felt open to the variety of the event, much like the me who first went, but probably not like all the previous versions of me that had been, or hadn’t even been able to make time to go – which made me feel very happy and fortunate to be in the position I’m in now.

I caught up with someone I know well and we managed to find our way together into a proper, messy and beautiful conversation, which felt even more rare and magical given the contrast with the shiny sales stands surrounding us. I had some conversations with others I know, some people I met at the event and some quick waves to others I didn’t get a chance to say hi to properly. I wasn’t exactly sad to be away from my (home) office but I didn’t feel relieved either. With lots of interesting things that I’m working on, it felt good to enjoy the event within the wider context I’m working in.

It also felt different in that this time I saw mention of places and projects I’ve been involved with in different ways over time, which made it feel like more of a space that I’m part of than I felt the first time around. I really enjoyed attending a workshop where one of my brilliant PhD supervisors gave another engaging and inspiring talk about the lessons we can and should learn from the move from town gas to natural gas. I didn’t feel like a total outsider this time around, I could see things I had helped design and shape, and I have more ideas about ways in which I can be helpful.

What felt different this time was that it felt like there was more of a human angle to the sessions. Less technology-centric with more of a recognition of the need for individuals working in this area and the people in buildings that are on the receiving end of retrofits to be considered and consulted. Relatedly, there were also more discussion about the impacts when those things aren’t happening, particularly in terms of residents, and how that affects delivery. There was more non-technical content than I remember from the first time around – both in terms of the subject matter of the talks and also in some of the different organisations that had stands. Of course that could be a case of confirmation bias, given the focus of my PhD but I didn’t feel like I was surrounded by technology stands this time.

There were still plenty of grumbles about government and what they can or should be doing differently or better, but there was also a sense from some that there is a lot happening. That government has provided (some?) people and organisations with a great opportunity through the range of activities they have set in motion and it’s now incumbent upon people to try and make it work. That sense of positivity and trying to make the most of the current context felt refreshing – in any context it can be hard for people to recognise the good times as it is happening. For a sector that can still seem scarred by the Green Deal which ended in 2015, that ability to focus on the here and now felt really wonderful.

One of the biggest shifts I noticed was around a focus on monitoring performance, with lots of services available. Giving people more access to data about actual performance to enable people to have more visibility of what’s actually happening in practice. This offers more scope to try and drive better quality installations and address the performance gap.

Turning then to what felt the same, for all of the differences in myself and the sector, there was much which felt worryingly the same. The big ticket thing for me was people talking about wanting to get to scale. That underlying drumbeat of desire which is beautiful, necessary and also reflective of how far away it still is. Talking about delivery of ‘large-scale schemes’ that in practice are small-scale, given how far away they are from the scale that’s actually needed. Of promising pilots which really could be the next big thing, that unlock the change that’s needed but right now no-one knows and so it’s a case of trying and seeing.

It did still seem like there is a focus on government to provide the funding and framework in which activity can happen at scale. It still feels like there’s an underlying assumption that this is a necessary precondition. While there is a recognition of the need to explore different funding models, and move away from the subsidy junkie approach, walking around I saw a lot of companies that didn’t have very clearly defined propositions, or ones that were clearly additive rather than extractive. The propositions had broadened and changed beyond technologies or installers but still, I left with an impression that some of the companies plying their trade there weren’t necessarily designed for or enabling a more transformative approach.

Despite the conversations about scale and funding, it still seemed like much of the focus was on the social housing sector. Given the relative sizes of the other sectors, with social housing the smallest , the fact I couldn’t find any sessions the day I went which were focused on other tenures, and only a couple on other days didn’t feel very reassuring. There was lots of talk about the cost and how expensive it is and how there’s a need to draw in funding from a variety of different sources, yet there weren’t many sessions which engaged with this. It also meant that discussions around how people think about their homes and what they want from them didn’t feel very centred in many of the discussions. That fundamental driver of my PhD felt like it got a little bit of space but I definitely didn’t see sessions I could easily imagine my research fitting into this year.

What struck me the most was how limited the reckoning with the findings of the recent National Audit Office report felt. For an industry long beset by concerns about the performance gap, a report which was so stark in the findings, and which reinforced views and concerns in the sector, it was odd not have more of an explicit focus on improving quality. There was some implicit recognition of it in the increased number of organisations offering monitoring services and in some of the projects being developed. Implicitly there too in sessions encouraging a sharing of learning, and it was great to see those sessions with people from across the UK. That felt really valuable but wasn’t a space installers and manufacturers were in. That could be unfair though, a trade event might not be the place people feel comfortable having those discussions. Without that explicit focus on improving the actual quality of works at a systems level, it is hard to see how we can get anywhere near the scale we are all still trying to unlock.

That left me feeling like it is easier to feel and see the changes in me. From just starting out, trying to inch myself into an area I wanted to be working in, to feeling now like I have some perspectives that can be helpful. I can bring insights that are grounded in practical delivery and informed by my own research and learning. Feeling how different the day to day and the context is now compared to when I first went.

As someone who wants to be helpful, I’ve found it difficult writing this piece when thinking in terms of where the sector is at more generally. I’m interested in what it is I’m creating when I invent or remember that past and compare it to now. I’ve been reflecting for a while on a sentence I read by Bill McKibben – when he was asked how people can make a difference as individuals, his reply was people should ‘be less of an individual’. He was talking about how people should think about themselves in the context of systems as systems change can leverage more impact than individual actions alone.

Thinking about where to place an emphasis and in recognising my role as part of a system, and wanting to effect change, I thought about just focusing on the many good things I took away from the event. I have definitely felt happy seeing reflections from people who were there, either at the time or afterwards talking about a sense of hope. Recognising that there is a wider range of voices and perspectives. That I’m not alone, or even a totally marginal voice, in thinking about the need to engage with what people want and feel and to think more holistically about homes and improvements to them. That people are focused on what can be done and trying to work things out in a purposive way, rather than session and discussions filled with people talking about how impossible and hard it all is.

It feels too easy to criticise and point out what’s wrong rather than focusing on the positives. Recognising that it’s easy to be a critic and thinking back to this quote from Theodore Roosevelt where he said ‘the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena…who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly’. That while it’s easier to criticise others than to build things yourself, it is much more rewarding to be the one who is building things.

Yet that niggling sense of worry I have keeps coming in, that while there is a greater diversity of views there is much that feels unchanged. That part of myself which feels worried we’re still trying to build on foundations that feel unstable. Reading and hearing comments about the National Audit Office report and wider longstanding issues with performance and quality being passed off as a few bad apples or not really engaged with enough or sufficiently substantively to have confidence the many examples of good practice are becoming entrenched as industry norms. Too little engagement with what people actually think and feel about their homes and a limited focus on tenures beyond social housing – hearing more voices calling for approaches that align with what my research is exploring but still struggling to see a context in which the aims of my research are accepted and embedded.

That in a time of political instability, with both the political and physical climates deteriorating, there is still a large reliance across much of the sector on government interventions as the element that is going to unlock change and action. Yet even amidst the instability and the latest UK political psycho-drama affecting progress, Ed Miliband and DESNZ are putting in a pretty solid shift to try and address the challenges of the moment in a sustainable, transformative way. Much in the detail that could be better in what they are doing but the sense of ambition feels evident. There’s a real risk that if we don’t find a way to shore up the foundations we won’t be able to make the most of the current opportunities.

So perhaps it’s unsurprising I don’t feel I can pick a side in the positive or critical perspective on the event and where the sector is at. That uncertain, nuanced view could be a fair reflection of how things are, and what story the conference was offering. Partially and imperfectly – in the arenas and stands, in private conversations and workshop sessions – people were telling stories of patchy, slow progress. Difficult reckonings, signs of hope, tentative progress and patterns of behaviour being recognised and grappled with, alongside the same mistakes over and over and over, of things still unresolved and unexplored. I left the event feeling energised by that sense of being part of a sector still willing to dare greatly, yet uncertain if or how those unresolved tensions beneath it are really being addressed widely enough.

What if it could be fun?

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George Saunders talks a lot about how when he goes to write, he’s wondering about what will be fun in the work he’s doing and it’s such a helpful reminder that play can really unlock your thinking and help you make progress. In a context where the emphasis on productivity and efficiency can be strong – hacks and hints, tips and how to’s abound – the call to fun can feel counter-intuitive.

Thinking about, and trying to find the fun in something is in part about just allowing yourself to be open to things. There’s a sense of curiosity and wonder about which mitigates against a lot of that sense of being stuck which makes it hard to see things as they are, or to imagine how they could be otherwise. Looking for fun also suggests the need to review a situation from a variety of perspectives – if at first you don’t find the fun, keep going. That’s a brilliant suggestion more generally when working on something because considering multiple perspectives is a way to see if there are other interpretations or test approaches.

There’s also a sense of lightness about looking for the fun in something that can be really helpful. It makes it easier to hold the issues a bit more lightly – rather than clinging on to ideas, whether your own or existing ones – it can create a space to think. That isn’t to downgrade or dismiss the difficult, fun can be respectful of the circumstances while also giving a better chance of not serving to the make the issue bigger than it needs to be.

Whether it’s a knotty work problem, challenging relationship with someone or wrangling with an idea or issue, thinking about looking for the fun can help unlock things. I recently wrote something for another context and audience that was very different to other kinds of writing I’ve done before. It felt like it still had my voice but did feel much more exploratory and, yes, playful than some other pieces. I had gone to it feeling quite heavy, not sure if I could translate a general idea I had for the piece into something more specific. Reading Saunder’s encouragement to be playful totally altered my perspective and reminded me how lucky I was to have the opportunity to explore and try.

There are lots of ways to start. It could be something more organised using an approach such as Lego’s Serious Play, designed to develop imagination and problem solving. Equally it could be a quick activity or game by yourself or with others – as is often the case, the Squiggly Careers podcast has a fun and useful episode with some suggestions.

Go looking for chances to bring fun into your day, think about how you can make play more of your every day. Have fun trying to have fun…

Echoes across the pages

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Spoiler alert: this piece is about the endings of two novels ‘Glass Houses’ by Francesca Reece and ‘Rebecca’ by Daphne du Maurier.

As part of my PhD I’m reading, watching, looking at and visiting cultural materials and buildings, museums and houses to get different perspectives on home. It isn’t surprising that I would start to see echoes between them but I was a bit surprised that burning down the house would be an early contender.

I’ve just finished reading ‘Glass Houses’ by Francesca Reece – about Geth and Olwen – a couple of people from North Wales who were connected as children and then reconnect as adults. The book is set in and around a house – Ty Gwydr, which for Geth isn’t a place he owns but feels like it is his, and that Olwen and her husband briefly own and creates a place for them to reunite. At the end of the novel it implies that Geth sets fire to the house but we never explicitly see this. Having recently read ‘Rebecca’ by Daphne du Maurier, that links back to the end of the novel where the implication is that Manderley has been set on fire. We don’t directly see the flames but the red sky and falling ash clearly suggest that is what is happened.

In both stories the home is a place of memories but also becomes, for those who decide to burn down the house – Geth and it seems Mrs Danvers in ‘Rebecca’ – a place that reminds them of a future they can no longer have. For Geth, it seems clear that Olwen chose to stay with her husband James, rather than leave him for Geth. There’s something about not being able to be with the only person he’s ever loved in that way. For Olwen, when thinking about telling James she wants to end things, she says something about it never being about not loving him, even as she clearly has very strong feelings for Geth. So there’s a difference in terms of the space that the other has in their lives and what that relationship means for each of them in terms of the possibility of love. There is also something about what the relationship would open up or close down for each of them. For Geth, there’s a suggestion of the relationship with Olwen allowing him to live in different ways – partly that he might get to live in the house he’s come to think of as his own. But also perhaps a life that goes beyond the area he grew up in. That he knows everyone and is a kind of big fish in a small pond there, and while that’s comfortable, Olwen offers him a chance to go beyond that. For Olwen it would be more of a narrowing down – financially she would be leaving someone who is very rich for someone who definitely isn’t. But more than it’s also someone who moves through the world in a quite different way – Geth is perhaps less comfortable in some situations than James is.

The ending of the stories serves to makes the home more of a character – a place that has held and facilitated ways of being in the present, as well as a holder of memories. Something that acts upon people as well as being acted upon. In Rebecca I was surprised by how the destruction of Manderley didn’t seem to have quite freed up the de Winter’s in the way the oppressive nature of Manderley, and Mrs Danvers, had seemed to suggest it might have done. For Geth though, it’s less clear what might become of him once the house is burned down and there’s presumably an investigation. Olwen and James seem to still be together and had planned to sell the house – their second home. So while they will be somewhat affected, given their wealth and decision to leave and sell, the impact for them is likely to be much more cushioned.

For both Geth and Mrs Danvers, there’s a sense they are trying to take control of a situation that is beyond their control. That the choices they wanted have become impossible for them, in Olwen staying with James and with the death of the first Mrs de Winter. It’s hard then to imagine what they can do, how they can be, and so they kick out and bring down the house which epitomises that. It’s a narrow kind of control because it can’t get them what they want but it can at least take them further away from their lost chances and so it’s understandable that might feel like the only choice they have now.

I’ve still got lots more books to read so I’m interested as to whether there will be more stories of the house burning down to end it all. As a plot device, burning down the house has a finality to it so I can see why it would be something that authors might reach for. A way to draw a line under what has happened and show that a situation, or way of being or seeing the world is now no longer possible. It serves to heighten the emotions of those who destroyed the homes physically, while showing how others might have destroyed the meaning of the home in other ways already.

A time capsule

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My latest study visit took me to Sambourne House, the family home of Linley Sambourne, the artist and Chief Cartoonist for Punch magazine that has been preserved almost untouched. The space has become a show home but still feels very lived in. It gives an insight into Victorian life and particularly for that of a family with an artistic disposition. The house shows how homes can absorb the influences and advances of the time, and yet still allow people to express their own tastes.

The house reflects the ‘House Beautiful’ aesthetic of the time – this saw a reaction to mass produced products, favouring the handmade and recognising the value of furniture and furnishings as artworks. The style tends to include lots of natural motifs and more muted colours – which can be seen throughout the house in the colours and designs, including William Morris wallpapers.

However, the house also reflects how people can take aspects of the current styles and adjust them to their own tastes. Another aspect of this style is a restrained, pared back approach and that is most definitely not the case in the Sambourne’s house. As the picture of the living room below shows, it is a space that is very full of things indeed.

As the picture above also shows, there are lots of elements of the interior which are connected to the exterior. Chinoiserie and pictures from and of the wider world – from their travels and also to reflect their connections to and placing themselves in relation to the world. Rugs and vases from around the world too – showing how homes are not just individual spaces but are connected to other places and people and that people intentionally seek out those connections. Influences and designs, a way of showing off both your taste and sense of self, allowing you to be somewhat out in the world even when at home, and signalling to others that you are cosmopolitan and connected.

There was a strong sense of comfort about the place, with lots of places for people to sit, rich and warm fabrics and materials covering all of the surfaces, and fireplaces in the rooms and even in the hall. I was very intrigued to find a curtain over the doorway in one of the rooms – part of it was on a pole that comes out so you can open the door without getting the curtain tangled up with the door. I had never seen that technology before but it makes such sense.

Another sign of the modernity of the house was that it has a downstairs cloakroom toilet as well as a separate bathroom with a toilet. This increased prevalence of toilets was something that was starting to come forward in Victorian times, following The Great Exhibition of 1851 at Crystal Palace. There the expression ‘to spend a penny’ came into being, as people could spend a penny to trial the first paid public toilets. This helped increased expectations about the availability of toilets, and the privacy of having a separate space for them.

The downstairs cloakroom is so modern that the sink is a technology innovation – to empty it you would have to tilt it to let the water run out of. These sinks allowed people to have access to running water and enabled them to wash their hands without needing to have the pipework plumbed in. This made it much more accessible for people to have installed, it also got around the issue which arose where plumbing systems initially were quite smelly – rendering them less attractive for people from that perspective. I wasn’t able to get in to the room to have a look but typically these sinks would empty into a bucket which would be cleared away – by the servants.

While the rest of the house is very highly decorated, the cloakroom has the white tiling that Barbara Penner talks about in her book which have come from a medical context – where the white tiles are designed to show how clean the place is, or make it easy to tell if and where it isn’t.

After Linley and his wife Marion died the house was left to their son Roy, who kept the house largely unchanged. When he died in 1946 the house was left to his sister Maud. Maud already had a large London residence, and so the house became a time capsule, mostly unoccupied and unchanged. Maud’s daughter Anne became fascinated by the place, leading to her setting up the Victorian Society and the continued preservation of the house.

I was interested by Roy Sambourne – choosing to live in the house and preserve it largely unchanged from when his parents had lived there. It seemed like an odd choice, to consciously choose to preserve somewhere, particularly somewhere that wasn’t a ‘stately’ home or one belonging to particularly famous people. I wondered how much it was a conscious choice or if it was something that reflected more a lack of decisions and action to make changes

As I found out more about Roy it came to make a bit more sense. From what I’ve been able to gather, he never really found his way in life. His mother Marion Sambourne wrote that “she was worried that her son had inherited none of the ambition and capacity for sustained hard work which had made his father so successful”. Roy’s biographer Shirley Nicholson writes in her book ‘An Edwardian Bachelor’ that “All Roy ever wanted to do was have a good time with the minimum amount of effort. This may not be an unusual attitude among the young, but Roy was never to grow out of it; Life carried him along, while he made no effort to shape its course”. When I read that, it became easier to see how he might choose to live in the house and not make any particular changes to it – beyond apparently getting the woodwork in his bedroom changed from red to white – while still leaving a space that didn’t feel very minimalist, as the picture of his room below shows.

A time capsule that developed from a comfortable family home into a place that shows how people lived then. It felt quite different to the more restrained designs that can typify the modern Victorian aesthetic. For a place that hasn’t been lived in since the late 1940s it nonetheless felt like a real home, and one that people obviously tried to make comfortable and reflective of their tastes. An old fashioned feeling space now but one that was clearly quite modern in lots of ways then.

Choosing to dance

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I’m at the point in the research where I’m actually drafting the questions to ask people, and it’s exciting yet it also feels a little sad. It’s a reminder that actually doing things you want to do and care about risks messing things up and dealing with messy reality but it is good to push through that for the same reasons. It has felt like a dance between ideas and reality, the literature and exploring peoples’ lived experience as well as between myself as a researcher and the people I’m asking questions of.

It feels a bit sad because to choose is to pick some things and to leave others behind. Areas that I’m really interested in, that I think would be useful, where it seems like there’s a gap – they are getting cut. Sometimes it’s because they feel too far removed from the subject, that it doesn’t feel like it would help to provide responses that add up to a cohesive set of information. This also means that if I’m asking questions I don’t think I can clearly use the answers from, I’m not being respectful of people’s time by getting them to fill in survey responses I can live without. Some questions have similarly had to be culled because I think, even though they are closely related to the area, I’ve got too many questions overall to realistically expect people to complete a survey that long. Especially because, for the kind of number of people I need to complete the surveys, I’m relying on more than just my partner and a couple of friends completing it.

In that narrowing down, from the general broad-brush ideas to the very specific questions it means a lovely idea – which can be all of the myriad of good things I can imagine – becomes a distinct thing. That narrowing down means I have to let go of all kinds of possibilities, some of which I can envisage now and some of which might only become apparent later on down the line.

One of the things I love and find very bracing about Oliver Burkeman is his repeatedly coming back to the idea of the finitude of human life and how we’re always choosing what to put our time and energy into, even if it doesn’t feel like we’re choosing. That we can’t do all of the things, even as we might want to. And that even if we think we’re getting around this by just not deciding, that’s still kind of a decision, just not a proactive one. So it’s better to try and put as much of your time as possible into things that you actively care about rather than just putting things off or getting your faff on.

So it is that, as can often be the case, aspects which makes it feel sad are also what makes it feel exciting. Doing this work gives a strong sense that the work is moving into a different phase and becoming more real. Trying to translate the general concepts I want to explore and picking the words, weighing and testing them – is this too leading? How would I use the responses to that? Trying to come up with answers for survey responses that respect the plurality of views and contexts that people can have about their experiences of home and how they make decisions about things. Imagining the discussions that I would have with people, the kinds of responses that they might give, the worlds and experiences – many of them beautiful but, given home can for too many be a space of violence and insecurity, also experiences that can be difficult and upsetting for them to reflect upon. Thinking about the kinds of follow-up questions and how to frame things to try and give people the space to talk about things without putting words in to their mouth.

In thinking of the structure of the interview, that too feels like a dance – something created between myself and the person being interviewed. Thinking through the logistics and trying to imagine how it might feel to move from one area or question to another. Are there too many questions – and the other person will feel like they are getting rushed and crushed around? That I am stepping on their toes, rushing to talk over them or hurrying them along to try and get all of the questions covered. Is that going to create a stressful situation for both of us – as though we’ve got the dancing equivalent of sweaty hands or stepping on each others toes? Watching the clock and calculating the number of questions still go to rather than being fully engaged in what the person is saying. Considering what kind of time people need to give considered responses, while still being able to get through enough questions that I get a sense of the lay of the land for them. Helping them move through the discussion and also allowing myself to be changed by what they have to say. Reflections that someone might offer up resonate differently when thinking about them in the context of what others share.

The dance still isn’t done, the questions need to be reviewed and updated. Then I want to pilot them to see how they translate in practice. It could be I put my left leg out and then have to pull it right back in again, or it turns out I’ve got two left feet or some similarly mangled metaphor. Nonetheless, that feeling of exploring and continuing to turn ideas into action is the kind of dance I want to be doing all of my days…

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

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Everyone thinks everything is worse than it is – a sense that things are getting ever more extreme and polarised. Social media throws our sense of, and crucially MPs, sense of, what people think about issues off. Social media focuses on the extremes, especially now that X has become a site which actively provides a platform for extremist right-wing views. As such, it is reassuring to read examples which show views which are both less extreme and more progressive than it can too often seem.

The Climate Barometer report ‘Signal in the Noise 2025/26‘ showed that the difference between what MPs thought the public believed and what they actually thought is significant. MP’s continue to underestimate how much support there is for renewables amongst the public, including in their own constituencies. Even with the news in the state that it’s in, people still overwhelmingly think climate change is a crucial issue and one that needs to be addressed. They also think it shouldn’t be forgotten in amongst all of the other things going on at the moment.

The disconnect between the perception and reality of public opinion is really important because MP’s will be thinking about how their constituents will react to actions they take. If the image MP’s have in their head is wrong, this can throw them off doing what they might think is the right thing to do. It might persuade them to stay quiet and not push on something, rather than feel like they can put their head above the parapet, let alone that they might be supported by their constituents.

This disconnect can be taken to extremes by some politicians who seem to be very online, and react accordingly. Yet the report is more evidence of the fact that lots of social media increasingly serves to platform the more extreme views, creating a sense that those views are more representative than they are. Climate Barometer looked at discussion about net zero on X and found ‘conversation is dominated by right-leaning skeptics, who make up 86% of all users discussing the term’. This active network of voices against net zero, and other social issues, contrasts with more disparate, less active and co-ordinated voices that are in favour of trying to address environmental issues such as net zero.

This matters even more because of pluralistic ignorance – a phenomenon where people privately disagree with a norm or view but assume others don’t, so they don’t say anything. This helps perpetuate the norm because no-one speaks out, so there’s social conformity to the norm which further reinforces it. If people are given the impression extreme views are the norm, that people are less pro-environmental than they are say, then it has real-world impacts. This can make us feel more weird and isolated from those around us. It also means we’re less likely to raise the subject and put across our views, thereby discovering we’ve got more in common than we had realised. We are also less likely to vote for parties that support those policies because we assume others won’t either so our vote would be ‘wasted’ or take action in some other way.

Creating spaces to have conversations about issues can be a way to try and surface views and get a sense of where people are in practice. It’s why I make a point of talking about how I travel by train, occasionally boat and even more occasionally, by a train on a boat, rather than flying when I go overseas now. For a long time before I started travelling that way I felt bad about flying but I was surrounded by people who were continuing to fly – including those who also worked on environmental issues. The social norm of flying, perhaps with a helping of feeling bad and a shrug of ‘oh well, nothing to be done’ was just so common that it allowed me to convince myself it was ok to fly. If someone had been talking about how fun it is to travel without flying and had helped me to think about travel differently, which is a key part of getting into the zone of it, I would probably have switched to train travel sooner.

As climate and environmental issues become more noticeable, there’s a lot more to discuss about how impacts are arising and what can be done. Even if you don’t use every opportunity that arises, using just a fraction of them to raise in conversation with others would still lead to a lot more discussion on the subject. The chances are they might have more in common with you than you imagine, and if they don’t, at least you know for sure.

If only ethics approvals came as standard

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I’m getting ready to start the part of the research where I can talk to and question actual people – really very exciting indeed. As part of this process I have to put together the documentation setting out my approach to identifying and managing the ethics implications of the research. Particularly given what’s happening more widely in the world, I can’t help but think this is an approach which should be much more widely adopted.

Getting ethics approval seems to be equivalent in part to a risk assessment in a programme or project management context. Looking at what are the risks I think could arise when delivering the project and setting out how I propose to mitigate, manage or remove them. Putting together the risks means that you have to think through how the activity is going to unfold in more detail. Drawing upon past experience and guidance from other experts, a first pass is developed.

More broadly though, the fact it’s called an ‘ethics approval’ rather than a risk management one feels meaningful. The word ethics carries with it a weight and dignity, a sense of morality which is beautiful indeed. I’m sure there could be contexts in which the word gets used, or abused, in a way that makes it feel hollowed out. So far it hasn’t felt like that.

The ethics process beyond the risk management then involves trying to actively think about ways in which the research might be conducted in ways that are respectful of those who are involved in it. My research around the social and cultural aspects of home unsurprisingly doesn’t require the use of physical human materials but the form I have to fill in allows for that possibility. For those who are conducting research using those materials, it is right that they have to properly account for the ethical approaches to doing so that go beyond a narrow risk management approach.

In relation to my own research, there have been discussions about how the information I give to prospective participants is presented so it can be accessible and easy to understand for different audiences. We’ve also talked about recognising and valuing the time people are giving up to support the research and how I can make sure people feel like it’s being conducted in a safe way.

The draft ethics proposal is then reviewed by my supervisors and updated following their feedback. This gives an opportunity to learn from their experiences, get more insights into practicalities and best practice. The proposal is then submitted and considered, feedback given and amendments made as needed before it’s signed off by the Ethics Committee.

That sense of care, consideration and support feels very fortunate indeed. Everyone involved is trying to make the proposal better, trying to ensure I can do a good and safe piece of work and that participants are treated respectfully. This is my first ethics approval rodeo so perhaps I might feel less enamoured of it if I go through it more times.

Nonetheless, the contrast with how so many decisions are made in work, politics and life more generally has felt noticeable. The centring of ethics shouldn’t feel rare but it does. Of course in lots of situations it is there but more implied, or wrapped up in different language. As I suggested above, there are analogies with the risk assessment process but the tenor of the discussions in relation to the ethics proposal have felt different to the risk assessment ones I’ve been party to. The explicit nature of the reference matters though, it sets a frame for the discussions and an expectation about what the process is trying to do.

The collective input on the ethics proposal looks very different to much of what’s currently unfolding in the news. The cruelty and violence being unleashed with no respect and no plan, so many lives at the whim of one unhealthy, unethical man is brutal to watch. As Ian Dunt articulated, the normalising and sane-washing isn’t being checked by other forces, instead it is serving to feed the chaos further.

Of course history, and the present, are full of examples of situations where lots of people are involved in decision making and bad things still happen, so I don’t want to pretend it’s as simple as more oversight leading to a better decision. Those issues instead provide compelling arguments to try and have better, more meaningful and ethical approaches, giving space for the better angels of our nature to prevail.