Going full bling

I’m wondering if you can reinvent yourself at 63. Madonna does it all the time, admittedly with mixed results. I suppose you can do it, but the question is whether you should.  We have moved from a house located on the edge of a village opposite a field right into the middle of a town, and swapped our 1960s detached house for a Victorian semi. We are now reaping the draughty rewards, but I’m also feeling a sense of liberation. There is an undeniable appeal to the mid-century modern style with its tastefully sleek and restrained look, but sometimes you just need to let loose.

(Although now that I think about it, I don’t remember my actual 1960s childhood home being particularly sleek or restrained. It did feature a fair bit of teak furniture, but it also gloried in fabulously swirly carpets and retina-searing wallpaper, and I don’t think the current mid-century modern fans are embracing that particular aspect of the look.)

Now that I have achieved my life’s ambition to live in an older house, I realise that I did feel a bit constrained decorating a 1960s house, although I did eventually manage to make our living room look like a Moroccan souk. French rococo furniture was always going to look a little out of place there and I knew I’d never get away with one of those tapestry bell pulls, much as I longed for one. Of course, you don’t have to slavishly decorate your home in the style of its era – lots of older houses have had a modern makeover and many newer ones can feel wonderfully vintage. But still, I could feel the restraining hand of the style police on my shoulder.

Now all that has changed. Those Victorians knew a thing or two about tastelessness and I’m embracing it wholeheartedly. I’m dreaming of ornate pieces of furniture, overdecorated rooms, rich colours, riotous patterns, silky golden tassels and knick-knacks everywhere. The joys of excess.  Bling in all its glory.

I started in a small way, with a chandelier in the downstairs loo and a big blingy mirror, but now I’m getting braver and planning a wall of mirrors. But, sadly, there will be casualties. I’m looking at my gorgeous sleek, slimline desk, which I loved so much in our last house, but now looks lost in a high-ceilinged room with a big sash window. I know it’s disloyal, but I’m dreaming of an elegant antique desk to take its place. As Madonna no doubt knows, reinvention can be both painful and ruthless.