The importance of an excellent sofa

Why the family who rest together bond better

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When you’ve been in a long term relationship with an interior designer you get used to relinquishing all decisions regarding decor to them. It’s just how it is. It used to bug me, until I used the good old comparison trick. If he were a GP would I take his advice on health? Mostly, yes. If he were a mechanic would I delegate all car admin to him? Definitely yes.

But the difference and the trouble with interiors is that they’re a matter of taste. It’s not really up for discussion whether one has a chest infection, is it? You either do or you don’t and there are only so many routes to treat it. (Unless you’re into crystals, in which case you may have other avenues open to you). Same for cars and the like, though more engine than chest. But curtains? Tables? Sofas? Problematic.

Sofas have been my nemesis for some time. Back when I was with the Interior Designer, we had a sofa made by one of his suppliers. It was extremely comfortable and very good for your back. Hotel grade in finish, built to last. But I hated it. Really hated it. The material wasn’t what I’d imagined it’d look like and the style was more than a little grandma in the flesh. Not in a good way. There was no getting away from the fact it was an excellent sofa though.

When we split I gained custody of the sofa. I tried to offload it on him but he didn’t want it. There was a small victory in this. All along when I’d said I just didn’t like it he’d stayed quiet. Yet there he was refusing to take the ugly thing with him! I almost felt sorry for it. The unloved offspring unwanted by either parent.

One of the first things I plotted to replace was the sofa. Sitting on it felt too much, like his last laugh. I researched crazily. Made a short list. Thought about colours and finishes. My budget wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t paltry either. I wanted comfort and lounging. I wanted a sofa for the whole family. I knew instinctively that having a sofa big enough for all of us to sit on was important. We were a busy family, always on the move, tickets booked, things to do, can’t stop! We needed desperately to rest. Together.

And so the sofa was ordered. And it took an age to arrive as sofas do. And then when it did, turns out I had accidentally chosen a left hand L shape and not a right. The room was reconfigured to accommodate our new guest. It actually works better as a left hander. That’s what I like to say. That’s the story.

Slowly at first and then with increasing speed we spent more time at home. The obsessive need to be doing things, booking activities, waned. Being a tangle of limbs and popcorn became more enticing. Film nights, TV suppers, playing games on the X box, ‘snuggling’, these were now our main pastimes. I’m now deeply suspicious of families who are unable to ‘be’ without an event. I know the root cause you see.

The sofa was at the centre of this change. It was just big enough to accommodate us all but not so big we could spread out. We had to negotiate each other’s bodies. We had to quite literally pull together. It was just the tonic. Best £2000 I’ve ever spent.

Cost per use was pennies, and I am ALL about cost per use, (hence my love for Sorel boots). It was velvety soft, a teal/marine colour, very much the thing 6 years ago. It was loved beyond loved. We cuddled on it, napped on it, visitor’s slept on it and declared it very comfy. The cat anointed it in her anger. The dog covered it in moulted hair. At least one of my sons was sick on it. Other unmentionable things may have happened on it, but I couldn’t possibly comment on that.

Lately keeping it clean has been too much. Velvet and dog hair are like best friends who refuse to be parted. No amount of daily vacuuming could keep up with the mess. I feared I was becoming a bit obsessional. Dare I say the state of the sofa was making me feel a bit down. ‘Nobody cares except me’ I’d utter, in a furious whisper, wielding the handheld vacuum like a weapon. It had to go.

Leather was what we needed. Easily wipeable, no-ability-to-retain-pet-hair leather. And modular too, easy to reconfigure as the whim took us. Oh and preferably 1970’s. What I really wanted was a ‘playpen’ sofa, but they’re around £15,000 and tend to not be leather. So the search continued on eBay and Etsy and the like. Even gumtree, the wild west of second hand trading. I definitely got side tracked along the way by non leather, brand new options. Like this for example:

I think if I lived in a split floor flat and spent my Sunday’s listening to jazz wearing a kaftan I’d definitely buy this sofa. Though my heart belonged to this old relic:

The playpen. Definitely not for everyone.

I almost ignored my leather criteria for this baby but then remembered I’m 44 and not 24, therefore shopping at Urban Outfitters is to be avoided.

Still on my refusal to search for leather path ONLY I found this chap:

But it would be a hair magnet despite being utterly 70s and therefore my thing. It’s also over £4000 so not in budget.

Yet more orange called to me:

But let’s be honest the only people ordering this are playing out a fantasy of being a supporting character in American Psycho. We’ve all met them.

On and on the search went. I knew second hand was the way to go but you have to work yourself up to dealing with eBay, don’t you? You and I both know that it’s a funny old place. People list things incorrectly, they take bad photos, they can be difficult about arranging collection.

And then, there she was. THERE SHE WAS. Over budget, but apparently open to offers. And so I made what is known as a ‘cheeky offer’ and then went to Tesco to take my mind off the sad reality that the seller would probably now refuse to sell to me for disrespecting their sofa’s worth. I imagined them scoffing at me, eyes wide. I considered messaging to say I was sorry and offering more. But no, I knew I needed to hold my nerve.

I was in the ice-cream aisle when my phone pinged to alert me that I had just bought the sofa. Oh the joy! The jubilation! The horror of organising a collection 200 miles away. No matter. We were almost home and dry. I mean look at it:

Admittedly needed a spruce up:

It’s been a labour of love regenerating this 50 year old grande dame, which happens to be a ‘De Sede OTO’ from the 70s - what a find! I’ve since seen three seats of this variety going for £1200 so I’ve definitely bagged a bargain. Some leather cleaner (not convinced it did anything), lots of leather recolouring dye, some leather glue applied with variable results, lots of leather balsam salve (didn’t bother with the brush or sponge, just got straight in with my hands) and a plan for leather filler in some of the more dog eared areas and she’s looking pretty good. It’s going to be a long relationship so I’m willing to put in the work.

Anyway, you’re here for the before and after photos. I know your type, for I am one of them.

NB: You don’t need to subscribe to see them, but do consider it, free or otherwise:

Okay, ready… the before up close:

And yes those little holes, top right, are where a cat has had a whale of a time scratching away.

Bit of dye, bit of balsam and…

Some side by sides:

And already it’s an excellent sofa. Not just because it’s comfy. Not just because it doesn’t gather pet hair. Not just because it’s pleasingly 70’s in style. But because we’ve configured it into a U shape (using these handy connector things so we’re not all scooting around the sitting room) that is perfect for resting together. I mean we have to squeeze up given the dog is huge, but that’s okay.

It has the Teddy seal of approval.

My boyfriend is now suggesting another dog. I can’t say I’m against it. I mean, we have a lot of sofa to fill. And one of the boys will be off to uni in a couple of year. Makes sense, no?

That’s it. My ode to an excellent sofa or two. May you be as blessed as us.

What about you? Are you as emotionally connected to your seating choices as I am?