You know what I love about Rachel Ashwell? There is nothing fake about her. What you see is what you get and what you get ain’t necessarily the epitome of perfection: which does of course mean that there is hope for all of us.
Take the pictures of her little beach-house above. Wires showing! Shock!! Tv’s not disguised as French Armoirs! Horror! (I mean really, how annoyed do you get when you see homes featured without T.Vs? It makes me mental.) Dogs on the furniture!! Yikes!! And Ye Gads! What is that I spy? Rubbish in a bin??? Well let me tell you that if Oprah and her entourage were coming to tea I’d no more leave wastepaper in my wastepaper basket than I would serve French Fancys with my knickers on my head.
But the problem with me is that it would do me a great deal of good to GET A LIFE.
Shabby Chic, you see is more than a label we have all stolen to describe all manner of household arrangements from chippy minimalism to lacy frou frou Victoriana. It is more than that. For Rachel Ashwell it is a way of life and she get’s it oh so right because she concentrates on the bigger picture. She’s busy living. She doesn’t get bogged down by incy details that might tie you and I in knots, but lets the fact that she is so true to her very authentic aesthetic speak for itself. And what she ends up with is a house that neither stands on ceremony, nor scares us witless.
A house I want to scrunch up in with a pretty platter of cheese and biscuits and a whole evenings worth of good tv…
A house worth coming home to.