As a teenager, my little box bedroom was my space to do as I wished with. It became a patchwork of potted palm plants, posters and postcards carefully arranged over a curious shade of lilac I’d picked out, with a painted silver door and matching woodwork.
My seven-year-old daughter, Skye, hasn’t yet developed that burning desire to manage the aesthetics of her space. One day that clear vision will kick in and it will be this fun, shared thing. If she wants to paint it fluorescent yellow I’ll say “Great — let’s do it!”.
