Howdy kids, were good weekends had by one and all? Mine was nothing to write home about, meaning two wholly underwhelming and utterly despair-worthy weekends have been suffered consecutively. In a bid to banish such boredom, I’ve taken to scaling the Surrey Hills like a mad man. Sunday saw not one but two ninety minute hoofs with the Little Mummy, pooches (admittedly we left them behind for walkie numero dos- don’t judge, Plum has a heart murmur thus can’t expend too much energy- well that’s what we like to think anyway) and I navigating the bridle paths of the South East like seasoned hikers. A struggling social calendar- one of the not so fabulous consequences of shunning university- did mean that I could knuckle down to some photo-faffing, however. Every cloud, eh?

I’ve spent weeks and weeks agonising over the image layout and mentioned such a maison more than a few times, so to finally bring Butterfield House to your attention is ever so slightly satisfying. The late Victorian abode- yes, I am going to get my history teacher on- is home to some absolutely brilliant family friends. The sorts of chums with whom one takes an impromptu boat trip down the River Thames in nothing more than a glorified dinghy- with a small member falling overboard and an outpouring of laughter taking priority over any throwing of rubber rings. One heck of a priceless day, that one.

The home of said chums secured a place on my mental “Houses That Are Absolutely Bloody Lovely” list just moments after stepping through the front door a few years ago. Why, you ask? The polished floors are among the many reasons; pull on your slipperiest socks and you will be shimmying from room to room like nobody’s business. There are two staircases; the stuff childhood chasing game dreams are made of. Where else, other than the IKEA catalogue, would you find a wooden swing hanging from the kitchen ceiling? Though now stashed away in the loft, such a kitchen accessory was installed so that tot number five could be pushed until his heart was content during the unloading of all dishwashers. A house of lovable nutters you say? Abso-bloody-lutely.

Aspects of self-amusement aside, Butterfield House is architecturally ahhh-may-zing and tickles more than a few of my interior fancies. So before I add yet more to the wordcount, I can only suggest your go fourth and soak up some Monday goodness.

All musings on the above bricks and mortar welcomed with arms wide open. May your week be full of marvel-worthy happenings!


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