Being the first daughter of one of the most handy and talented hand-on dads one could wish for, meant I got a grasp for all things home with both feet grounded in practicality. I was equally at home in the workshop with power tools as I was in the kitchen or garden.

I don't think any house we lived in was ever really finished - from home made kitchens were always in progress, wood working projects always on the go. My mom is a great cook, and an absolute whizz in the garden. This instilled in me a love for tasty things, many home grown, and a realisation that a colourful and lush garden can inspire and change the way architecture is viewed. Growing up we had a very simple mid century home built by my paternal grandfather, and she hated the structure. She covered it in greenery and so a relatively modest home took on another dimension - a lush oasis that enveloped the house. Looking back I wish I could go back there and work on that house, making the most of the glorious mid-century features - the solid copper fireplace mantel that stretched to the ceiling, slatted timber eaves and crazy paving.

I spent holidays at my maternal grandparent's farm in the Karoo; with huge teak windows and heavy wooden beams across the ceilings. A farm kitchen with the biggest Aga stove in which we baked gingerbread men. An enormous stoep from where we could survey the goings on and sit in the warm winter sunshine. The BBC World Service on the wireless at noon (don't dare make a peep when it was on). A bowl of jewels - precious rocks, agates and crystals that we played with that Ouma had collected on her worldly travels. Formal lunches in the dining room with family silver and huge chandeliers that dripped sparkles from the ceiling. Food that was hearty whether it was guinea fowl that my Oupa had shot and hung for weeks on the lines under the eaves until succulent, or home grown lamb. The donkey being stoked for warm water outside our window against a backdrop of booming male ostriches.

It was this homestead that sparked something in me that will always love and respect heritage properties. I understand them and have a deep respect for the way they were built - high ceilings, well-proportioned spaces, thick walls, beautiful craftsmanship - all contributing to a simpler and more considered life.

The oldest building I have owned along with hubbie, dated back to 1740. A mews home that started life as a stable in London's famous Greenwich. Later, a pre-war property which was bombed during WW2 - the walls were never really stable after that. Where I learned to tile and put up ceilings and spent nights stripping wallpaper. A simple Karoo homestead built for the mistress of a farmer in 1840. A Victorian in Chelsea in Wynberg. And now, our youngest property where we are raising our family is a 1937 heritage home in the Southern Suburbs of Cape Town.