Coastal

Linen shirts, wide trousers, striped tops and knits in navy, white, sand and washed blue. Everything looks slightly sun-faded, even when it is new.

Your shoes are woven sandals or canvas trainers, and in winter you wear a chunky fisherman's jumper with real pride. A straw hat lives by the door. Jewellery is shells, silver or a simple gold chain, and it stays on in the sea. Hair is a little salty by design. You prefer clothes that move and breathe, and you do not iron unless you must. Your look says you might go for a swim later, and honestly, you might. You are at your best with the sleeves rolled up and the wind in your face.

White walls, pale floors, linen curtains that move in a breeze. A driftwood bowl, a jug of sea holly, a stack of striped towels and a basket of shells collected on many walks.

Your furniture is light: rattan, whitewashed wood, a slipcovered sofa that you can wash. Blue appears in tiles, cushions and glass. Rooms feel airy because you leave space and let the light do the work. There is a hook for a wetsuit, or a wish for one. Prints are of boats, maps or the sea on a grey day. The kitchen has a big jug of water with lemon in it. Everything is easy to clean, easy to sit on and easy to love, and people kick their shoes off as they come in.

Acoustic guitar, soft summer pop, bossa nova, songs with waves in the lyrics. Music you can hear from the garden with the doors open.

Weekends are for water. A swim, a paddle, a walk along a beach in a wind that rearranges your hair. You like seafood eaten at a picnic table, a pint on a harbour wall and a long lunch that turns into the afternoon. If you are inland, you find the river, the lido or the nearest lake. Evenings are a barbecue, a bottle of something cold and friends who do not mind sandy feet. Sundays are for a long walk and then a nap with the window open. You plan holidays around coastlines, always.

Heavy velvet curtains. Dark, cramped rooms. A shoe that cannot get wet.

You would never be caught with a wardrobe of stiff, formal clothes that need dry-cleaning. Glossy black furniture and chrome feel wrong to you. So do rooms with no natural light. You avoid busy patterns, heavy perfume and any outfit that would be ruined by a sudden splash. You would never be caught refusing a swim because the water looks cold. Of course it is cold. That is half the fun. You would also never be caught in a rush on holiday. Watches come off on the first day.

Get near water regularly, not just once a year. A weekly swim, a monthly coast walk or a river path you know well will do more for you than any cushion.

Invest in one perfect linen shirt and one great knit, then build around them. Bring the sea indoors with texture rather than themed objects: rope, raw wood, stone, linen, glass. Keep the palette tight. Then plan for winter. A coastal home in December needs warm lamps, wool throws and a fire if you can manage one. Coastal at its best is not about anchors on cushions. It is about calm, light and the feeling that the weekend is always about to start.