Welcome to Real-Life Renos, where we’re pulling back the curtains to the home renos we just can’t get enough of. Tag along as our favorite designers, chefs, and cookbook authors welcome us inside their spaces and share the behind-the-scenes stories behind their transformations. We’ll explore their takes on sustainable living, how they express their identities through design, how they create beautiful spaces that center around accessibility—and so much more.
Over the past two years, my husband and I have been slowly renovating and restoring our Victorian terraced house in North London. It wasn’t love at first sight (at least for me), but Darius saw the potential. It had three bedrooms, good proportions, and a big (for a city) garden. However, the layout was terrible, it had a non-functioning bathroom upstairs, and a rundown extension on the end of the kitchen. The electrics were outdated, the windows leaked, and all the original features had been lost over the years.
What we did have was a lot of energy and love to invest into bringing this 1890s house back to life. So, with virtually no experience (and a tight budget) we set about learning how to do everything from plumbing to building stud walls (bye free time, hello DIY).
And then came the first lockdown that brought the U.K. to a standstill. At that point, our garden was a large patch of broken concrete and a sea of neck-high weeds and brambles. Up until then, we had focused our energy on making the inside liveable, but the pandemic took its toll emotionally and we craved a connection with nature. As a distraction from worries about the health of loved ones (and from news that, as a journalist, I couldn’t switch off), we turned our attention to the outdoors we were so fortunate to have.
We started out by asking for advice from green-fingered friends—with a long narrow plot and no clue, we needed all the help we could get. What we did know was that we didn’t want to follow trends or get too distracted by inspiration online. Instead, we craved a space that felt personal to us, surrounded by things that would comfort us.
We spent weeks sketching out our dream garden on graph paper: a space for entertaining, for growing our own food, a year-round BBQ area, a cut-flower patch, a hammock spot to remind us of our honeymoon in Mexico and…a pétanque court! Not the most traditional choice, I know, but we tried to take our inspiration from our happiest memories: the south of France, where we got engaged, and Moscow, where I worked as a foreign correspondent while Darius stayed home in the U.K.—when he visited, we’d played boules in Gorky Park. There was no lawn (controversial, I know), but we decided it was a lot of maintenance, and what would we use it for?
Our lockdown weekends were spent clearing, levelling, and rotavating our plot. We mapped out our sketches with string and sticks onto 35 meters of bare soil. We added extra drainage and a soakaway after witnessing the garden flooding the previous winter. But the hardest part was lugging 12 tons of gravel through the house, thanks to having no outside side access: It took Darius 300 (!) trips. Many more evenings, weekends, and some heavy machinery later, our pétanque court was done, and I got planting.
We decided to leave one section of the garden wild, and plant a mini wildflower meadow in another. These choices, designed to encourage wildlife, have given us so much back as we now have a garden full of bees, birds, and even slow worms! I can’t wait for the meadow to flower this year and see all the new creatures and critters that might call it home.
In one corner of our garden we planted a jasmine tree. A lot of my childhood memories are tied to vacations spent at my grandparents’ home in Jordan—and the strong scent of jasmine in their sun-soaked garden. The pandemic separated us all, and sadly my grandfather passed away before restrictions allowed a visit, but in some small way I will always feel connected to him through that glorious scent of jasmine.
A big part of the process of planning the garden and watching it come to life has been the emotional succor it has provided us. In one way or another we have all been impacted by the pandemic, but we are ever grateful for the privilege and pleasure of being able to shape our own outdoor space. On the most difficult days, a few minutes in the morning picking flowers from my cutting patch, getting my hands in the soil, or even weeding have brought me disproportionate joy. Nurturing nature has been a way of nurturing myself, and I am so grateful for it.
What we are growing:
Plants can be expensive, especially larger established ones. We picked a couple of showstopper plants (hello, Dicksonia antarctica), and we’ve been filling the rest over time. A mix of ferns and hostas on the shady side, and palms and bamboo on the sunny side and lots and lots of bulbs. I like to grow perennials and annuals from seed—that way, if they fail, it’s just the cost of a packet of seeds.
In the veg patch:
We have kale (lots and lots of kale), garlic, plenty of herbs, and fruit galore: raspberries, white currants, gooseberries, rhubarb, and strawberries. It’s not nearly enough to sustain us, but when supermarket shelves have been empty, it’s been reassuring to have leafy greens in the garden.