A Private View: how vision led to va-va-voom in a Somerset farmhouse

It’s one of the first sunny days we’ve seen in weeks, but looking at Colin Gray’s garden, you wouldn’t know it. The lavender lining the path, frothy puffballs of Provençal purple, is abuzz with bees, and the native trees in the orchard are dotted with the first pears and apples – bullet-hard, yes, but full of autumn promise. “There was nothing here when we arrived five years ago,” Colin says casually. Does he mean to say that all this – the sprawling borders and the whispering grasses, the wild cherries and rambling clematises – is new? “Well, actually, the lavender was here. But everything else was just immaculate lawn.”

It’s amazing what a bit of vision can do – and Colin, it seems, has it in spades (or should that be trowels?). He needed it, he says, for when he and his partner, Gary Maude, first moved to this farmhouse in the Somerset village of Ashill, the house and its surroundings left little to be desired. “It was a blank canvas,” Colin explains. “I think that was partly what drew us to it.” Where others would have seen a barrier in the building’s black-gloss beams and stark white walls, Colin saw a project with potential. “I needed something to do, I think. I’ve never been much good at sitting still,” says a man who, across his career, has been by turns a retailer and restaurateur, an antique dealer and an interior designer, across almost all corners of the south-west. You don’t say…

“I get why people would have been put off,” he continues. “Building materials are expensive, labour’s very dear, as is decorating. Unless you’re prepared to do a fair amount yourself, it’s nigh-on impossible.” But prepared Colin was – and the possibilities he’s conjured from what were faintly unremarkable rooms are richer than most could have imagined. His nose for a good bit of furniture has no doubt helped, but so too has his nous, particularly when it comes to colour. “We did the house room by room, making sure that we knew what the light did before we picked the paint,” he explains. Taking in the gradations of earthy ochre that ascend in lightness with the staircase, for instance, it’s safe to say that taking time was worth it.

The last room to be finished was the downstairs study, which, Colin explains, was once home to a parrot. “There was a funny texture on the walls that proved very troublesome to cover.” But once they’d solved that puzzle, he realised that was it: “Our time in this house was over.” Colin says he doesn’t feel at all sentimental about putting the house on the market. “We moved here when my mother, who lived in Exeter, was ill. She’s no longer alive, so we feel it’s time for a change.” And time for a new project, we ask? “I’ve never understood people who live in the same house with the same job their whole life,” he says, jumping up off his chair. “There’s so many things to do, so many places you can live!” So, yes: another project then. We could have guessed.

“I do like this part of Somerset. It’s so unspoiled, but you’re not too far from the fashionable bits either, if that appeals. And there are so many lovely villages here with a wealth of good architecture. That was definitely a pull for us too, not least as we didn’t know this area particularly well when we first started looking.

“We’ve moved a few times and, each time we have, we’ve always gone for something that’s been on the market for a while. I think there’s a knack to seeing beneath the surface in old houses. But you’ve got to be a bit gung-ho about things too – and optimistic: hope for the best!

“Another thing we liked about this place was the fact that when, about 20 years ago, it was derelict, the house was bought by a builder who had a reputation for being sympathetic. It meant that the work that needed doing had been done properly, which today means the house is lovely to be in. It’s warm and dry, the bones are all in good condition, the flagstone floors have been left in situ… It hasn’t been messed around with. So while the white walls and black beams weren’t beautiful to look at, there wasn’t anything terrifying we needed to do to make it liveable. And there was a great, well-made kitchen with bespoke cabinetry – such a bonus! If that kitchen hadn’t have been there I’m not sure we would have bought the house.

“It’s thought that the farmhouse was built in around 1750, but I think it could be older. The oak lintels in the inglenook fireplaces, for instance, look a bit earlier to me, but we’ve not properly dated them. There’s an ancient well, which would have been the building’s water supply, and a stone privy, which is wonderfully wonky. For more than 100 years before we moved here, the house was owned by the same local family, some of whom still farm the local area organically. They’ve managed to retain a lot of the land and won’t develop it, so it still feels pretty bucolic.

“I love the way the light works in this house, but it did make it quite complicated when it came to choosing paint colours. We definitely didn’t get it right first time in all the rooms. The hall was originally pink, for instance, which was completely wrong, and we scrapped the sitting room’s palette pretty quickly too. Over time, we realised that earthy tones work best downstairs – ‘Jitney’ by Farrow & Ball, and Little Greene’s ‘Middle Buff’ have been great successes. I’ve got an eye for colour, I think – my father was an architect and it’s amazing what you absorb by accident – but that doesn’t mean you can avoid trial and error altogether.

“I’ve picked up a knack for antiques too – though I’m definitely better at buying than selling, as Gary reminds me. The house is full of stuff, but it is a bit of a passing cast. Some things stay for longer than others, but I’m always having to make space for new finds. I’ve just bought a new dresser, so the handsome pine one in the dining room shall have to find new owners. Purchases like that focus the mind!

“I’ve been very lucky in life: I have been able to do most things I’ve wanted to, surprisingly. I’ve had good times and bad times – opened restaurants and closed them, opened shops and closed them too – and I’m here to tell the tale. You learn lessons doing things like that. When my ex-wife and I opened our second restaurant, for instance, we got badly ripped off by a builder. So I taught myself to plaster, how to put in a fireplace – that kind of thing. I know that’s not what gets everyone going, but for someone like me – who’s terrible at doing nothing – it’s great. Doing up houses has definitely been the most fun of all my various jobs.

“That fidgetiness is really why we’re selling now. I look at these rooms, lovely though they are, and think: what do I do now? My daughter thinks I’m mad! But neither Gary or I are at all sentimental. I truly believe home is who you’re with and the things you bring with you. You can make a home anywhere. The world is your oyster, in that respect – and life is short. I want to make the most of it.”

Further reading

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