Minimalists have been on social media wincing at the clutter, but behind the mismatched muddle is the insouciance of truly posh living. Anne has no need to sweep through frantically cleaning and de-junking before posting a picture of it to millions. She has far too much inherited mahogany to embrace a pared-down look.
The space appears not so much designed as evolved. A chintz armchair sits on a patterned carpet on top of which sits another rug. You just know that room’s fragrance is not that of a Diptyque Feu de Bois candle but the muddy dog that’s probably lying in the brown velour bed by the television, just out of shot.
Everything looks as it’s been there forever and built for comfort rather than being cautiously curated for others to admire. The princess and her husband, Timothy Laurence, appear entirely nonplussed by the idea that anyone might dissect their living quarters.
They are, of course, safe in the knowledge that we can’t spy what may lie hidden in the corners or atop the dresser. Let’s just say that the parents of a titled friend of mine have a drinks trolley in the corner of the living room laden with ancient bottles of weird congealing concoctions and which act like fly paper to every passing insect.
The rest of us shudder at the thought, as we rush to pop a coaster under the nearest glass. And that’s just it – there is nowhere so revealing of our background or future hopes than our living room.
A sort of classless Scandi aesthetic might have washed over us, yet the tells still remain. Even the words we use reveal much. My parents had a drawing room; I have the more déclassé telly room, or occasionally a sitting room. (In reality, it should be called a mindless-scrolling-of-phones room). Others have lounges, front rooms, living rooms, sitting rooms, family rooms, parlours and dens.
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Watch the upper classes wince if you refer to the ‘lounge’; I still touchily recall reading Jilly Cooper, in her 1979 book Class, characterise those who talk of living rooms as not People Like Us.
Wealthy minimalists believe that a lack of possessions on show reflects an absence of consumerist desire that is very expensive to manufacture, while the pristine showrooms of the nouveau working classes reflect their pride in their Instagram-worthy parlours.
But Anne doesn’t care what others might think. So what if her extra sofa cushion, family photos and retro-looking TV unit raise eyebrows? In all its rough and tumble glory, hers is a living room only the truly posh can pull off.
Tables
Posh people love little tables and have them everywhere. Either that or they’ve just inherited lots. Side tables, coffee tables, chairs used as tables, they just adore an extra surface.
Sofa
Matching armchair and sofa, two parts of what we used to call the three-piece suite and which formed the backbone of British living rooms. It’s threadbare, but still perfectly usable, of course.
Books on the coffee table
Unlike the curated bookshelves of TV intellectuals and politicians, Anne’s reading matter is devoted to hunting and dogs. Think The English Dog at Home rather than the latest woke must-read.
Dog beds by TV
Anne, you suspect, loves her dogs as much as her children. But this love doesn’t translate into a luxury four-poster for her pampered pooches – these functional dog beds look like the high street’s cheapest. Ruff luck.
The TV
Nothing is thrown away, including the ugly TV cabinet repurposed for the flat-screen age and which holds a surprisingly large telly.
The figurines
In case the family should forget that Anne is an Olympic equestrian, there are many, many figurines of horses. And dogs, more dogs.
Photos
To prove that she does love her children as much as her animals, there is an endearing abundance of family photos, including one of daughter Zara’s christening.
The paintings
Anne appears to subscribe to the rule that there are only three appropriate subjects for paintings: horses, ships, men holding up swords while staring into middle distance. There might be room for a dog portrait, of course.
The Telegraph, London
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