Is perfectionism the enemy of improvement?

Cabin beds are a bit of a rum do, really. In theory, they are the key space-saving device for your child’s bedroom, encouraging a general decluttering, and returning beauty to a place that had become a pit. But in fact, they seem to achieve precisely the opposite effect, with each composite element somehow cramped and inadequate; and the whole, as a consequence, rather less than the sum of its parts – at least from a usability point of view.

Paradoxically, this piece of furniture, which looks so neat in the online catalogue beneath high ceilings and in acres of floor space, is also a dominating hulk in a normal-sized room. It blocks the light, looms over anyone who dares enter, and fairly gloats at its own ludicrous size – which is wholly at odds with its actual storage capacity.

For a period, I had one of these beasts as a child. And I perhaps got lucky – or was an irritatingly tidy boy – since my recollections are all terribly fond. The little wardrobe on one side was big enough to hang my Cambridge United and England football kits in; the desk on the other side was a handy place to write my stories about Father Christmas’s travels in space; and the bed on the top was comfortable and, frankly, cool.

All this led me to the conclusion that the cabin variety would be the perfect solution when my daughter needed a new bed about three years ago.

I was soon proved wrong. For a start, it took me a full two days to construct (the first, when the heaviest lifting occurred, requiring the help of my brother). Then, once its various storage possibilities were exhausted, we realised there were stills books, clothes, toys and all sorts of other gubbins in every corner of the room.

Finally, and worst of all, we realised that the lovely ritual of sitting on the end of the bed while our daughter settled down for the night – having a chat or reading a book – could not be recompensed by a swift hug in the middle of the room before her sad ascent up a ladder. Not only had we failed to solve the practical problems which had led us down this route, we had meddled with the fabric of our familial life.

I thought of this on Wednesday, when I happened to watch the latest episode of Grand Designs, in which a brave couple tried to turn a derelict water mill in Cornwall into a lovely home – on a tight budget. Kevin McCloud beamed at the repointed external stone work, but drew breath like a pantomime dame when original timber beams inside were removed en masse. Never mind that the wood was turning to sawdust right there onscreen, Kevin wasn’t happy.

In the end of course, the place looked lovely. It didn’t have quite the atmosphere that arch conservators might have preferred, but it was generally delightful and the couple were happy. As the camera panned round for one last time, my wife and I nodded sagely and said in unison: “Well it’s better than it was.”

And though that phrase might be hard for any perfectionists out there to hear, it has become something of a mantra in our house – a nod to achievements we can make in spite of our limitations, especially when it comes to home improvements.

We took it as our inspiration for resolving the cabin bed disaster, once we realised last year that our error (my error) in buying the thing needed to be undone. The behemoth was sold – I hope to someone who had more space – and we repainted the room a calm green (it had been a jazzy purple). In a Heath Robinson moment I turned what had been a wardrobe into a book case and desk, and while it had a few rough edges, it wasn’t the disaster I had feared it might be. Lastly, we bought a cheap, conventional bed into which our daughter could be tucked, rather than dispatched.

True, some of that ever-present clutter remained, but it was stuff that our daughter loved. True too, there were a few corners of our paint job that Kevin McCloud would have winced at. But as we stood back to survey the results, we could say with confidence that we’d made it better than it was.

And all in all, I reckon that’s a good enough thing to aim for.