Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen: ‘I’m rolled out to cut ribbons and go on TV’

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Llewelyn-Bowen was born in London and educated at Alleyn’s School in Dulwich and Camberwell School of Arts. He formed an interior design practice in 1989 and has been a regular presence on television since 1996, fronting shows including Changing Rooms and To the Manor Bowen. He lives in the Cotswolds with his wife, Jackie, 59, daughters Cecile, 28, and Hermione, 25, their husbands, Dan and Drew, and grandchildren, Albion, 7, Demelza, 2, Romily, 1, and Eleanora, 6 months.
I’m into my circadian rhythm, so I’ve got one eye open at 5.30am. We have nesting rooks, so the attic sounds as if it’s been taken over by pterodactyls. But they’re not what wakes me. Please prepare your sick buckets — the thing that wakes me in the morning is contentment, which is the most un-rock’n’roll thing in the world. After all those years waking up dreading the hangover, the early flight or the phone call from the bank, Jackie and I have not just our ducklings but their ducklings under the same roof. We are absurdly lucky.
We were rattling round our six-bedroom manor house like dried peas in a luxury tin, so why not consolidate into a homestead? A hundred and fifty years ago, no one left home — and it very much works for us. We’ve split it so we have separate quarters and complete autonomy. Jackie has the occasional shudder about living in a two-up, two-down, but it is a two-up, two-down — with a ballroom. Hermione is next door and Cecile lives in a converted garage block. The view from my dressing room is like the opening scene from Beauty and the Beast, with this cast of minor characters — the Amazon driver, the dog walker, the Uber Eats man, the vegetable deliveries. They’re all on some fad diet.
The toddlers are obsessed with Jackie — they call her Gaggs. So unpleasant, but too late now. Our room is coral orange and with an enormous bed, which ends up like The Raft of the Medusa. Several dogs, cats and a menagerie of grandchildren are all clamouring for Gaggs’s attention by the time I come up with her enormous cup of tea and perhaps some blooms from the garden in a funny little vase. Secrets of a happy marriage? Train your husband properly. And never share a bathroom.
I’ll sneak to the pavilion, where I’ll run a mile on a clapped-out machine listening to the theme tune of Lawrence of Arabia. Then it’s a handful of nuts and some yoghurt. I know, awful. It should be a haunch of venison and a bumper of port. But like all old people I’m obsessed with being regular.
We have a design shop and showroom in Cirencester and we all work there together. There’s half an hour of shouting from Hermione and Dan about the fact that I no longer run the company — and I need to bugger off upstairs and paint. There’s been a Succession-style takeover and Hermione is the full Shiv Roy. I’m now the guy who wanders about in the background on their Zooms and is rolled out occasionally to cut ribbons and appear on TV.
Lunch is a moveable feast but we try to get together in the evening. Albion shouts “Yoo-hoo, drinkypoos!” across the courtyard at about 5pm and everyone gathers at ours, then they dematerialise when there’s clearing up to do. Gaggs and I wash up and then segue into our modest squirearchical evening meal of salad served on a nest of tables in front of Netflix. I take the dog for a totter round the garden, talking to the moon and communing with the land. At 9pm Gaggs is in bed and I follow with two buckets of gin. We’ll read and chat, and by 9.15 I’m gently snoring next to the ancient spaniel.
People hope that by relaxing they’ll be content. Actually, being content makes you relax. Family life is extraordinarily dense, fabulously irritating but somehow beautiful.
I’ve always been quite self-contained about who I am, but being nearly 60 you do tend to think about death. I’m at peace with the process but I simply cannot bear the way crematoria are decorated. I’d like to be put out with the bins and recycled as quickly as possible.Outrageous Homes with Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen is on channel4.com
Best advice I was givenAlways do your own thing. Let your “freak flag” fly
Advice I’d giveLet your freak flag fly even higher
What I wish I’d known That being (very) nearly 60 is more than fine — it’s great fun!