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I recently visited a friend’s house for the first time and it completely matched up to my expectations, especially the garden with its layers of lawn, flowerbeds studded with seashells, pond full of duckweed and vegetable plot heaving with potatoes, cabbages and tomatoes. Poppies glowed and figwort hummed with bees. It was like a corner of heaven on earth.

I love seeing inside people’s homes and gardens. In a way it’s like being introduced to a facet of their personality. The books on their shelves, pictures on their walls, odd knick knacks balanced on window sills are all clues to their hidden selves.

My home is a two-storey flat, a maisonette that the estate agent described as have two bedrooms, though one is little more than a large cupboard, with just enough space for a narrow single bed, providing you don’t want to be able to walk around it. My husband has claimed that room for his Blu-rays and DVDs, band posters and tattoo artwork, figurines of aliens, dragons and other gruesome beings. Everyone needs somewhere to remember themselves - somewhere to unfurl.

Fortunately for me, I get the rest of the flat - the saffron-tiled bathroom with its tiny square window gazing out over Bristol is where I lie and think and dream.

The kitchen, with its blue-painted walls, excessive cupboard space and window taking in miles of city views which we both love, is where I wash and slice and chop vegetables, stir bubbling pans, play with spices and herbs, and do some more dreaming.

The living room, with its view of rooftops and sky, bookshelves, paintings and struggling magazine racks, is where I work most days, perched in the corner with my lap top, covering the floor with scraps of paper - note, inspiration, ideas and more dreams. When I glance up from the screen I can watch clouds shift across the sky, birds swooping and, occasionally, hot air balloons drifting by.

But this room is also home to my husband’s towering speakers, his DVD player and Blu-ray machine, his immense flat-screen TV. This is where he unwinds, and I unwind with him, making this our space.

The maisonette is oddly upside down. When we first moved in I would get lost, coming out of the living room and expecting to go upstairs to the bathroom, when the kitchen, bathroom and living room are on the top floor, hence the amazing views, while the bedroom, the husband-room, and the shower room are on the floor below.

But the bedroom level is still a storey above street level, which I enjoy. I like being above the world, above the people passing by. Our bedroom has French doors that open onto a small balcony above a shop sign, and sometimes we sit out there watching the traffic and pedestrians, and no one knows we’re there.

The balcony offers some of the best views of all. On clear days we can see two of my favourite feats of engineering - Cabot Tower, a tall, red-brick homage to John Cabot, and the Clifton Suspension Bridge, spun across the Avon Gorge like the work of some extraordinary spider. In the sunshine it gleams white against the city’s buildings and I feel like I could walk there in a matter of moments, which is, of course, an illusion.

Inside, the bedroom is my favourite place in the house, the other room my husband and I truly share. It exudes peace and a delicious sense of sleepiness. Lilac and white walls, deep green furnishings, pieces from my childhood home and my husband’s… The bed is vast and comfortable, the bedside table is laden with books, and sometimes I think that’s all that I need - somewhere to dream.