The Framework That Shaped Our Renovation Brief
When people ask how we made decisions during our renovation, they’re often expecting a list of finishes or a particular design style.
In reality, what shaped the project most wasn’t a moodboard — it was a framework.
Before any work began, we needed a way to make decisions that would hold up over months of uncertainty, cost pressure and competing advice. Something to return to when opinions multiplied and clarity felt thin.
This is the framework that shaped our renovation brief — a decision-making approach we used when planning changes to our Edwardian home.
It grew out of choices we’d already made: living in the house before renovating, and learning where compromise was unavoidable once work began.
Start with why the house doesn’t work
(Not what you want to change)
Before thinking about layouts or extensions, we forced ourselves to articulate why the house wasn’t working for us.
Not solutions. Not Pinterest ideas. Just friction.
For us, that meant being honest about everyday experience:
the landing and kitchen felt too dark
the ground floor felt disconnected
there were too few bathrooms for a five-bedroom house
there was no permanent storage upstairs
parking on the side street meant a long walk to the front door
our bedroom was detached from where we dressed and bathed
there was no appropriately sized room downstairs for an office
This shifted the brief away from fixed outcomes and towards problems to solve — giving our architect room to think, and helping us clarify what we actually wanted to improve.
This approach closely mirrors guidance from RIBA, which emphasises briefs grounded in needs rather than pre-determined solutions, particularly in complex residential projects.
It’s especially relevant for period homes, where forcing modern ideas onto old structures often creates new problems.
Be clear about what already works
Just as important was being clear about what we didn’t want to lose.
Old houses often work in ways newer ones don’t — and it’s easy to overlook that when focusing on shortcomings.
For us:
we valued having distinct spaces for different moods and uses
a snug for evenings felt separate from a more formal living room for guests
the house already had enough bedrooms for family and visitors
our bedroom sat at the back of the house and to the right, furthest from neighbouring walls and the busy road, giving it a sense of calm and privacy
the character mattered: ceiling height, cornicing, architraves, proportions
This grounded the brief and ensured we weren’t “solving” problems by erasing the very qualities that drew us to the house in the first place.
Heritage bodies such as Historic England consistently stress the importance of understanding and retaining what already works when planning sensitive, long-term change.
Define must-haves — without over-specifying
Only after that did we move to requirements.
Our must-haves weren’t drawings or dimensions. They were outcomes:
retain the existing number of bedrooms
create an ensuite and dressing room for the main bedroom
introduce access from the side street
include a utility room
create an open-plan kitchen–diner
Keeping this high-level was deliberate. The more specific a brief becomes too early, the less creative room you give an architect — particularly within the constraints of an older building.
Separate nice-to-haves from necessities
Finally, we listed the things that would improve the experience of the house, but weren’t essential:
a lightwell to bring daylight into the landing
a boot room
a downstairs office
These ideas were held lightly. If they could be accommodated without compromise elsewhere, great. If not, they were the first to go.
That distinction proved invaluable once trade-offs became unavoidable.
Why this works particularly well for period homes
Older houses come with fixed constraints — structure, proportions, light and access — that don’t respond well to rigid briefs.
By framing our renovation around problems, priorities and principles, rather than fixed solutions, we allowed the house to guide the outcome as much as our preferences did.
The result wasn’t perfect — but it was considered, respectful and liveable.
Closing thought
This framework didn’t remove uncertainty. But it gave us a shared language — with each other and with our architect — for making decisions when there was no obvious right answer.
For a period home, that felt like the most important starting point of all.
