First year in London was chaos. The windows rattled in the wind, but we built it piece by piece. Flat-pack breaks too quick, so we searched markets. Another dragged a chair from Camden. It looked like chaos, but that’s why it worked. Vintage sofas feel alive, and we care more about story than gloss. I’ve watched half my flat pass out across two chairs, and the furniture was part of the night.

Markets spill chairs onto the streets, and Smithers down in Shoreditch knows it. I stopped by Smithers looking for nothing, and the sofas looked like they belonged in films. We couldn’t afford much, but it’s the pride of the living room. Ask around and you’ll hear it. It’s part of student life. Armchairs don’t mind if you fall asleep in them. Mass production doesn’t care, but retro lasts. every creak is another laugh.

Looking back after twelve months, the dodgy landlord fades away, but you remember the sofa store. So if you’re moving to London, skip the flat-pack rubbish. Take home something with scars, and let it shout Shoreditch every time you sit.