Turning a disused rural building into a future family home is rarely straightforward. It’s a journey filled with hope, setbacks, uncertainty, and small turning points that slowly build into something real. For this first entry in my journal, I wanted to capture that journey through the eyes of the people living it — because behind every approved plan or finished drawing, there’s a story of emotion, risk, and belief.
The Interview
What first drew you to the old cow shed when so many people might have walked past it?
We never really saw it as “too small” or “not worth saving.” I’ve known that building all my life, and my family actually tried to buy it years ago. I loved it even then. After we got married and spent so much time up here, we started noticing it more and more. It just stands out.
It was the location that really made us think, there’s something here. It’s quiet, tucked away, surrounded by countryside, and part of the family’s world. Even before the idea of building came along, we’d stop and look at it and say, “That’s a beautiful building.”
When did the idea shift from “Could we do this?” to “We’re actually doing this”?
Honestly, when we started working with you. There’s no way we would have done this without your involvement — not just practically, but in confidence. You were realistic, no false promises, but always level-headed.
There were three major milestones for us:
Finding out the land price — that was the point we realised this might actually be possible.
Getting planning permission, which was an 18-month rollercoaster.
Choosing the builder, which made everything feel suddenly very real.
Until then it all felt like a gamble. When the price, planning and builder all aligned — that’s when we knew we were in it fully.
What has been the hardest part of the “in-between” stage — selling your house, living with family, waiting to start?
The limbo. Packing up our home without knowing when things would move forward. Normally when you move, it's into something new — but we were packing everything away with no timeline.
Living with family is fine, but it’s not the same as having your own space. And with a young child, routines change and everything feels temporary. Not knowing when we’d get a price or a start date was mentally exhausting. Once the builder came on board, everything eased. There was movement, and that helped.
Was there ever a moment where you thought about walking away?
Only once — after having our little boy. I had a wobble thinking about whether we were doing the right thing for him. Before that we’d been braver, but once you have a child everything feels bigger.
But even at those moments, the thought of not doing it felt worse. We kept coming back to the family connections, the support, the location, and how special it would be for him growing up here.
Did you ever have a single moment where it all “clicked” — where you could finally imagine living there?
When you sent the drawings and visuals.
We couldn’t visualise it before then. We knew roughly what we wanted, but we’re not creatively-minded and couldn’t picture it. Seeing the first visuals — straight on, detailed, real — that changed everything. Suddenly we weren’t talking about “an idea” but our house.
We showed everyone. It made it feel tangible.
How did the planning process feel from your perspective? Stressful? Hopeful? Uncertain?
All three. Because it wasn’t a straightforward project — a new dwelling in the countryside never is. There were little wins and little knocks all the way through.
The bat survey.
The AONB objection.
The timing of committee dates.
Waiting for responses.
Trying to hold back the application until the right councillor returned from holiday.
It really was a minefield, especially having never done anything like this before. Local support kept us going — that mattered more than we realised. And you explaining everything clearly helped so much. Without that, it would have been overwhelming.
What was going through your mind when the committee voted in favour?
Sheer nerves. It felt like court — you only speak when told, and you can’t correct anything even if it’s wrong. Watching them debate something so personal was surreal.
When the votes started coming in, we didn’t relax until the very last one. Seeing 16–3 in favour felt surreal. Those three “no” votes still stung for a moment — but mostly we felt relief, gratitude, and disbelief.
Did the community and heritage support mean a lot?
Absolutely. It gave us a lift every time a letter came in. It showed that we weren’t imagining it — this building is special to other people too.
And importantly, we weren’t upsetting anyone. We have close neighbours, and they were all fully supportive. That meant the world.
Does it feel more real now that construction is about to begin?
Yes — completely. Having the builder on board changed everything. For three years we’ve been waiting, hoping, planning. But now there’s a timeline and a team.
It’s excitement mixed with a bit of panic because we’re not from building backgrounds. But it feels safe now. It feels like the right people are in the right places.
What are you most excited to see take shape?
Movement. Footings. Progress.
But emotionally — the kitchen.
Standing in our own kitchen after years without one.
Seeing the view from the bedroom doors.
Having the fire on while it rains outside.
And the housewarming party, of course.
If someone asked what it’s like to work with Rob, what would you say?
Professional, thorough, and honest. You stand your ground when needed but you’re flexible. You translate everything so we can understand it. And we always felt safe — like you genuinely cared, not just as our architect but as someone who didn’t want us to make a mistake.
We trust you completely. That trust is what allowed us to start this journey at all.
If you had to sum up the journey so far in three words?
There aren’t three words that can capture it — but if we had to:
Unique. Emotional. Life-changing.
Reflection
There are hundreds of conversion and self-build projects across North Wales, but no two stories are ever the same. What stands out here isn’t just the building or the design — it’s the courage to take a risk, the patience to keep going, and the belief that something unloved can be brought back to life.
For me, this project is a reminder that architecture isn’t just drawings, policy, or planning conditions. It’s about the people who place their trust in you, the family moments wrapped around a site visit, the emotional weight behind every decision, and the future memories that will one day fill a space.
And that’s why this journal exists — to show the real side of what it takes to deliver a project, no matter how big or small.