Old friends

The lines and figures drawn by the architect were inscrutable to Alex, so her accommodating husband, David, crafted a miniature scale model of their future house in balsawood. Alex could turn the tiny dwelling in her hands and imagine the full-scale, lofty battened ceilings and movie star swimming pool. She walked to the site while her husband was at work to supervise the local builder and his troupe of brickies, scuffing around in the mortar dust and cement as they laid the foundations and erected the walls. Forty years later in this Melbourne home, only the deep orange shag pile carpet hasn’t survived. The mission-brown brick has absorbed and concealed the grubby hand prints of children. Orange and black eggcup-shaped stools and a tulip table have weathered decades of loving use. And now the original furniture looks remarkably chic. The double-height rooms and open-plan layout make visitors wistful for a bygone era. The couple’s daughters tell them to update the walls with white plaster, but they’ll have none of it. The purple Pucci print wallpaper is as vivid as ever, the bushy plum carpet still soft underfoot. David routinely skims the surface of their kidney-shaped pool. Their house is a modest 1970s classic, as authentic and comforting as a slow-cooked casserole – and just as warm.