The secret of the super cottage

There's no reason why a small house shouldn't feel like a big one

- Bee Osborn

SEVERAL years ago, I went in search of a home in the Cotswolds to be closer to my daughter’s school. Having stopped to buy a sandwich at a local shop, I spotted a For Sale sign next to a dilapidated two-up, two-down shrouded in undergrowth. My reaction was impulsive; within 10 minutes, I’d made an offer and set about creating my first super cottage, which comprised a small, but carefully considered series of spaces that can grow and stretch when needed. It’s a house that doesn’t cost a fortune to run, but it is filled with quality things, so that it feels luxurious and cosy. After it gained significant publicity thanks to its resemblance to the house that features in the film The Holiday, I sold it and set about finding my next project—my ninth— and my second ‘super cottage’.

This house was completely derelict and the project involved spending 15 months living in a shepherd’s hut in the garden (cooking on a barbecue in rain and sometimes snow), as the builders set to work with the renovations. I was very clear that I wanted enough room to have eight friends for dinner—something I couldn’t do in my previous home—and for my three daughters to come and stay with their respective husbands or boyfriends.

Ideally, a super cottage should be like a pyramid, with more space downstairs than upstairs, but, of course, that’s not always possible. In that case, it’s a question of looking with fresh eyes at what is available and making the most of it. Here, in every room, I’ve fought for each square inch—searching in voids, removing plasterboard ceilings and lowering floors where necessary.