Standing in my flat’s bathroom about six months after we’d finished the major renovation work, I had this weird moment where I realised something was properly off. We’d done everything right, you know? Ripped up that horrific carpet I mentioned – still can’t believe anyone thought bathroom carpet was a good idea – painted the walls, put in a decent shower. The whole thing looked miles better than the 1980s nightmare we’d inherited from the previous owner.
But it felt… empty? Clinical, maybe. Like walking into one of those display bathrooms at B&Q where everything’s perfectly positioned but nobody actually uses the space. My girlfriend kept saying it looked great, which it did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling we were missing something important.
The problem hit me one morning when I was rushing to get ready for work – had Year 9 first period, which means you need all your wits about you from the moment you wake up. I’m trying to brush my teeth using this random mug we’d nicked from the kitchen as a toothbrush holder, squeezing soap out of one of those plastic dispensers you get from Tesco, and I just thought: this is ridiculous. We’d spent months planning paint colours and researching bathroom suites, then finished the job with whatever random tat we had lying around.
It’s like buying a really nice sofa then throwing a tatty old blanket over it and calling it styled. The bones were there, but none of the stuff that actually makes a space feel lived-in and personal.
So I started paying attention to what we actually used every day. That soap dispenser got pressed probably twenty times between the two of us – morning routines, washing hands, brushing teeth. Every single time it was this cheap plastic thing that looked like it belonged in a service station toilet. The pump mechanism was dodgy too, you had to press it really hard and half the time nothing came out, then you’d press harder and get way too much soap everywhere.
Swapped it for a ceramic one that matched our paint colour – this warm grey we’d agonised over for weeks because I was terrified it would look too dark in such a small space. Cost about thirty quid, which felt mental for something that just holds soap, but the difference was immediate. Suddenly that corner of the vanity looked intentional instead of like we’d just dumped whatever was handy.
The toothbrush situation was even worse. That mug wasn’t fooling anyone, plus it was always getting knocked over because mugs aren’t actually designed for bathroom counters. Found a proper holder with separate sections, nothing fancy but it looked like it belonged there. Amazing how something so simple can make everything else look more put-together.
Here’s where I nearly messed up though – went into John Lewis with good intentions and almost bought one of those matching bathroom sets. You know the ones, where the soap dispenser, toothbrush holder, and whatever else all look identical. Dead convenient, and I can see why people go for them when they’re trying to sort out a bathroom quickly. But they looked so… catalogue-y? Like someone had ticked boxes on a form rather than actually choosing things they liked.
Instead I mixed it up a bit. Kept the same colour family but used different materials – the ceramic stuff for soap and toothbrushes, then added a little glass dish for my girlfriend’s jewellery (she’s always taking off rings to wash her hands and forgetting where she put them), and this bamboo pot for cotton pads that I found in TK Maxx for about three quid.
The towel bars were driving me mad too. Whoever had installed them originally clearly hadn’t thought about how people actually use bathrooms. The hand towel was positioned right next to the sink where it got splashed constantly, and the main towel bar was in this weird spot where you’d drip water all over the floor trying to reach it after a shower. Basic stuff, but it made the whole room feel awkward to use.
Moving them was a proper pain – had to fill the old holes, repaint, drill new ones. Did it over a weekend when I should have been marking Year 8 geography assessments, but honestly it was more enjoyable than reading thirty identical essays about coastal erosion. The new positions make so much more sense, and I upgraded the finish slightly to something warmer that works better with the ceramic accessories.
Storage was the next puzzle. Our bathroom’s tiny – most Victorian conversion flats have bathrooms carved out of what used to be cupboards or something. Counter space disappears fast once you start adding the stuff you actually need. I didn’t want everything hidden away because then you’re constantly opening cupboards, but I also didn’t want it looking like Boots had exploded in there.
Ended up putting a small wooden shelf above the toilet. I know, I know – over-toilet storage is controversial. My mum thinks it’s disgusting, keeps going on about bacteria and hygiene. But when you’ve got about four square feet of floor space, you use what you can get. Painted it the same colour as the walls so it looks built-in rather than stuck-on, and I’m careful about what goes up there.
Got a small pothos plant for one end – my girlfriend’s idea, and I was sceptical because I kill everything green that comes near me. But apparently bathroom humidity is like plant paradise, and the thing’s absolutely thriving. Makes the whole space feel less harsh, softens all the straight lines and hard surfaces. Plus it’s doing that thing plants do where they make you feel slightly more like a proper grown-up who has their life together.
The lighting was bugging me too. We’d kept the original ceiling fixture because it worked fine and we were trying to keep costs down – teaching salary plus mortgage doesn’t leave loads of room for unnecessary upgrades. But it’s quite harsh, especially when you’re stumbling around at night trying not to wake anyone up.
Found these battery-powered LED strips that stick under the vanity unit, creates this subtle ambient light that’s much gentler for night-time bathroom visits. No electrical work needed, which is good because I’m definitely not qualified to mess about with bathroom wiring. Cost about twenty quid and makes evening routines feel much more civilised.
The whole transformation probably cost less than £150 and took a few weekends to get right, mostly because I kept second-guessing my choices and rearranging things. But the impact was massive – suddenly our bathroom felt like our bathroom, not just a functional space we happened to use.
What surprised me most was how these tiny changes affected the daily routine. Using nice accessories made ordinary stuff feel less automatic, more… pleasant, I suppose. Like the difference between eating off paper plates versus proper crockery – same food, completely different experience.
The bathroom still isn’t perfect – the tiles around the bath are slightly wonky where we did them ourselves, and there’s a patch of paint by the door that needs touching up. But it feels finished now, lived-in rather than just functional. Sometimes it really is the small stuff that makes a space feel like home rather than just somewhere you keep your things between work shifts.
