Through the keyhole: The places we call home

The designer home

Steve Mayes, 30, is a photographer. He lives in Gateshead, in an eco-house designed by Wayne Hemingway

I wasn't really looking for a new-build home before we saw the Staiths development. But as a photographer – especially one who specialises in black-andwhite images of the architecture of the North-east – this place appealed to me. I responded to all the different colours and textures of the project, the flats down by the river and the houses in courtyards.

I share a three-bedroom house at the end of one of the U-shaped courtyards with my fiancée, Liz, who's 28 and is an assistant regional director for the CBI.

The project was designed by Wayne Hemingway, and it really works. It was all built sustainably and everything's very energy-efficient, but there are some great little ideas, too. They've just launched a "bike pool" so residents can borrow bikes for free. We were each given a £57.50 Halfords voucher so we can get helmets.

One of the best aspects of life here is that our gardens are in front of the houses rather than behind them. It encourages a communal spirit – lots of my neighbours are now really good friends. I don't think I could even have recognised the neighbours I had in my previous house. Maybe they were particularly elusive, but here things are very social. Our neighbours are from a similar demographic to us: young professional couples, some with young children. I'm actually thinking about joining the running club set up by one of the other residents.

The thinnest house in London

Polly Paulusma, a 31-year-old musician, lives in Battersea with her husband Mick. They own London's narrowest house

I first saw this house in 1997, and fell in love with it straight away. My sister said that it was too small; I guess that some people just overrate width. But when I kept dreaming about it, and drawing it, I finally thought, "this is ridiculous", and I bought it.

It's 7ft 7in wide all the way through. I know there is a thinner house in Kensington that's about 4ft wide and used to be a ladder shop, but that's 11ft wide at the back. So I think, in the aggregate, we win.

My husband Mick and I have done quite a lot of work on it since then. Mick is Canadian and has a natural affinity for woodwork. We've added a little bathroom upstairs. I couldn't believe we could get another room into this place, but we did.

We once looked up the house's history in the library. It was built to fill a gap between two houses. We know that because we've just had some work done, and they went through several layers of brick to the neighbours' wall. We could see where ivy suckers had left a trail, so it had once been an outside wall.

Between 1899 and 1901, a Victor Ellis lived here and made banjos. I'm now a musician, and I recorded my entire first album, Scissors in My Pocket, in the 7ft 7in by 9ft shed. It's lovely there: it has no phone and a lovely vibe, underneath a big tree. You can really concentrate.

The second album, Fingers and Thumbs, came out in June. I wrote and recorded all the demos here, but when it came to recording, I realised that I couldn't make a big rock album in such a small space. It was bursting out! We don't have a television – the house is too thin to watch it. You have to ration yourself, which I think is very liberating. All the same, I think we might live in a barn next.

The animal sanctuary

Tracy Flack, 38, is a vet. She lives above her practice in Kentish Town, north London with her girlfriend, Vanessa

It's very common for vets to live above the surgeries where they work. It often comes as part of the pay package, although I do pay the bills. I lived "above the shop" at my previous job in Winchester, and I've been living here, above Abbey Vets' Kentish Town practice, for the past five years.

I share a two-bedroom flat in the Victorian terrace with my Brazilian girlfriend, Vanessa, who is 28 and works for Virgin Trains. It's pretty basic, but we probably wouldn't have been able to afford something this nice in central London if it didn't come with the job.

One of the best features is the roof garden, which extends out from the kitchen, at the back. We have potted plants and tomatoes growing up there. It's great to have an outdoor space in the city.

When people visit for the first time, they're often surprised that you have to walk through the waiting room to get upstairs – sometimes, clients buttonhole me on my day off. Also, people sometimes catch me on the doorstep and hand me a baby bird or a pigeon they've found. I can sometimes hear the animals at night. Although we're not a 24-hour practice, we do hospitalise animals and it's important to be able to nip down and check on them at night. The other week, we had to remove a cat's eye, and I had to check his fluids.

We've also adopted a couple of flatmates: a tortoise called Ruby who was brought in as a stray, and turned out to be a boy. And at the moment we have a stray hamster, who came in looking a bit bedraggled. She's a female, but one of the nurses has nicknamed her Gary anyway.

The penthouse pensioner

Harold Riley, 72, is an artist. He lives with his wife, Ashraf, on the 12th floor of a block of luxury apartments in Salford

I love my penthouse flat at Salford Quays because from here I can actually see all the landmarks that have shaped my life so far. I can stand on the balcony, 12 floors up, and see the house I was born in, the school I went to, where my grandmother lived and where my father was born.

Then there's the cemetery where my parents are buried, and a bit further along is the site of Trafford Hall, where most of my ancestors worked as artisans centuries ago. Then, in the distance, there's the village in Derbyshire where I've had a holiday home for 40 years. The distant red-brick building in the other direction is my archive, which was given to me by the city council.

And on the other side of the canal there's Old Trafford, Manchester United's football ground. I played there as a junior under Sir Matt Busby, who became a great friend of mine. I delivered the eulogy at his funeral.

I bought this apartment almost by accident three years ago. I'd lived in a six-bedroom Georgian house at Buille Hill for 30 years and wasn't planning to move. This block was built by a friend, and this was the show flat, so I just came for a look around. I was smitten as soon as I walked in and saw the views. It was a no-brainer, really. I had to be here.

My wife, Ashraf, and I have enjoyed seeing all the seasonal changes. We can see so much sky, without being compromised by buildings and walls. The most magical time of day is when the city lights come on. Moving here has given me an incredible incentive to paint.

The green house

Sarah Harrison, 60, director of a herbal medecine clinic, lives with her husband David in an environmentally friendly house in Highgate, north London

My husband, David, and I decided to reconsider our environmental impact when we moved here. Of course, we also knew we'd be saving money at a later stage. I'd been working in environmental building for a long time, and knew what I wanted to do to the house.

You'd have to know a lot about Victorian houses to notice the aesthetic difference. There are four inches of insulation on the inside of the exterior walls, and the roof and underfloors are lined with natural wood fibre. We added a light-well over the stairs so that we needed fewer lights, and we put in a condensing boiler and high-performance, draught-stripped, double-glazed windows.

Every drop of rain water that hits the house is collected and recycled, while the grey water can be diverted to the garden. Despite the recent terrible weather, we've needed no heating for hot water in two months. The house is 20C all the time, thanks to solar panels.

The rural idyll

Michael Kallenbach, journalist and trainee psychotherapist, 58, lives in a cottage in Mildenhall, Wiltshire, with his civil partner, Robert, and their dog, Polly

In a small village you want to be near people you know, but not too near. Mildenhall is perfect. I know lots of Army people around here whom I met while working as a foreign correspondent in Berlin after the Wall came down.

Everyone's so friendly. It's not one of those twee villages that's up its own arse. We know the farmer and the milkman, and get eggs from the dairy. People leave raspberries or asparagus outside your door. With my London flat, I hardly know who my neighbours are.

I was asked to edit our parish magazine, the Parish Pump – I must be the only Jew in Britain to do so. It's very in with all the gossip – I love it! I live in three little workers' cottages knocked together, with a modern kitchen, flat-screen TV and all the gear. I live here with my partner, Robert, who's also the deputy church warden. Last year we had a civil partnership, which I wrote about in the Parish Pump. Everyone's very nice – it's not an issue at all. And I think it's quite an accolade to be the only gay in the village, don't you?

The fire-station flatshare

James Higgins, 30, is a historian. He and three flatmates live in a former fire station in Marylebone, London

When I first saw the fire station I couldn't believe it. A company called Camelot lets "guardians" live in vacant buildings. The guardians pay a low rent – I pay about £300 a month – and the building owners get cheap security.

The building's Grade II listed and was built in 1889. I've found the property on two censuses: the 1901 one stated there were actually 45 people living here, the fire-fighters and their families.

It still has the fireman's pole, and my three housemates use the old offices as their bedrooms. My room used to be the dining area; it was structurally sound but very dirty, so I cleaned it, painted it and put up curtains.

The Camelot scheme is great, but you have to be flexible. I know people who have only lived in their place for two or three months before they've had to move on. I've been here two years now, and that's quite unusual.

The family pile

Clare Macpherson-Grant Russell, 63, lives in a castle on her family estate in Banffshire with her husband Oliver

My family has lived here since 1457. The castle was built in 1546, and now it's one of the very few family-owned castles to have been lived in for over 500 years. I came to live here as an only child of five years old.

I love my home and the countryside. Like any owner of a castle, I would say that it's incredibly hard work to keep it up. The easy part is inheriting it. The difficult part is keeping it going. When my parents were here in 1950, there was no proper central heating or electricity, and there was only one bathroom in the entire house. They had to pay a fortune in 1965 to redo the castle from top to toe.

It's not a big castle. It's 16th-century, when people were much more practical than, say, the Victorians were. We have small rooms, about 65 of them, but it's not too big. My great-grandfather started our herd of Aberdeen Angus cattle, which are now important for tourism. We've had some extraordinary people come to visit – the actor Kurt Russell, for example, and the film director Bob Zemeckis, not to mention the occasional Japanese princess.

We are lucky enough to have a wind farm. The estate is about 25,000 acres, mainly farming, forestry and a lot of sport. We are near nowhere, among the Grampian hills. It's a glorious part of the world in which to live. We have red squirrels and deer, and a lot of salmon and sea trout. We've done up five or six houses to put up fishermen. They house enough for 24 rods, which is very good business for us, as are the shooting parties. We opened to the public 15 years ago.

Dogs are extremely important in my life. I have six: four spaniels and two Norfolk terriers. That's why I like the sitting room best, because all the dogs are there. I also like what I call "my guardian-angel's room" . A beautiful lady had been seen many times in the castle, and I was told by one of our guests that she was one of my relatives, who had lost a child of five years old. He said that the lady thought that I was her long-lost child, as I first came to stay at the castle aged five. He also said that she had saved my life three times.

The Shelter shelter

Claire Couch, 30, lives with her son, Joshua, in a converted barn in Lee-on-the-Solent, Hampshire

If people saw my house, and didn't know my background, they would probably think I'd done quite well for myself. It's the middle of three that have been converted from a barn.

I'd owned my own home since I was 19, but in 2005 I became very ill. I've got Crohn's disease, osteoporosis and arthritis, and was in and out of hospital. I used to be a project manager in building maintenance and upgrade, and I'd been off sick since January that year. In the May, I was made redundant, then the following month I became pregnant with my son. His father and I split up the night I told him I was pregnant. Suddenly I was a single mum-to-be.

I was still signed off sick because my doctor was very concerned about my working during the pregnancy. In February this year my house was repossessed. Finding a landlord who accepted housing benefit was not easy, but I managed to do it through Shelter, the housing charity. They were my saviour.

I do like the house. It's smaller than my old one, with two bedrooms, and is very nicely decorated with oak floors. The outside has got a lot of character, but a lot of features inside have been removed. Still, it's very light and airy; people say how lovely it is.

The circumstances of why I live here still grate. What I went through was horrendous. It was very upsetting to lose a house I'd spent a lot of time and money doing up from scratch. You feel worthless. Even though you used to pay your taxes and national insurance, now people just see you as a single mother living on benefits.

If you'd have asked me three years ago where I'd be today, I'd have said in a higher position at work and still tottling along in my stiletto heels and suits. I would love to say that in five years' time I will own my own home again, and won't be relying on benefits.

The retirement village

Former nurse Christine Bailey, 59, lives in a retirement village in Cawston near Rugby with her husband, Tony

The moment I retired, I realised that the little rural hamlet where lived was all but deserted from eight in the morning until seven in the evening. I wanted to be part of a community again.

We also wanted to downsize and de-clutter, to start afresh. I suppose we wanted to have our cake and eat it: we wanted minimalism and all the mod-cons, but also to stay in the countryside and feel connected – a p lace with a sense of history.

The Lime Tree Retirement Village, a group of two-to-three-bedroom retirement flats on the grounds of an Edwardian mansion, was perfect. Since the older residents are in their nineties it makes me feel young again. Our home cost £155,000.

It's a bit like living in an adult playground. We're looked after by cleaners and gardeners and nurses. There are dance classes, coffee mornings, t'ai chi, ladies' nights, croquet. The mansion is dripping with chandeliers, and there's a restaurant, bar, library and snooker room. I still feel a bit like the lady of the manor.

The estate agent's des res

Kerrie Franklin, 21, is an estate agent. She lives in a shared-ownership flat in Basildon, with her boyfriend, Lee

I've been an estate agent since I was 17 – I did my NVQ with Quirk Deakin on Canvey Island and I've stayed on. I really enjoy the work – it's people-based, friendly and hectic. But it can get disheartening when you're looking for a place of your own. You're showing potential buyers around all these lovely homes that you can't afford.

My boyfriend, Lee, is an estate agent too, and works for the same company. We didn't have to look for long for our own property. We intended to live on Canvey, but a shared-ownership flat came up in Basildon, and we went for it. We only had a £3,000 deposit.

Shared ownership is the only way a lot of people can get on the ladder these days, so they're quite in-demand. What it means is the local housing association owns half of the home, and we own the other half. Ours is a little, dark-brick, one-bedroom flat in a block of three. The lady before us had done up the kitchen and bathroom, so the main thing we've had to do is fix the windows. But it's great. I love the fact it has a balcony, I need my fresh air. And, in a small flat, a balcony is key on wash-day.

The happy camp

Joan Giblin, 65, is the warden of Broadway Caravan Park. She and her husband Steven live in a bungalow on the site in Worcestershire

In 1987, my husband and I made the irresponsible decision to abscond and travel. We let out our house in the North and spent 12 months in a Campervan touring Europe and Morocco. We had to curtail our trip while I nursed my mother for two years, but after her death we went to Portugal and met some people who were wardens on a caravan park. That's when we realised that it was the life for us – we could work in the summer and travel in the winter.

For 13 years, we lived as wardens in a caravan. Now we share a new two-bedroomed bungalow on site. We don't own it – it comes with the job. Living in such small places, I've learnt to be organised and not collect clutter, but I do love boxes.

Some people on the site do misbehave, letting their dogs foul others' pitches. But most people are wonderful, and they're often jealous of us. They don't realise how hard we work – in the office, cleaning the loos. But it's a way of life, meeting young families and those in their nineties still enjoying the outdoors. It distances you from the nastier bits of reality.

I love the freedom of caravanning. We want to do some more travelling now. We've bought a cottage in Sussex as a base, but we'll be off in the van soon.

The urban barge

Jake Elster-Jones, 35, is an environmental researcher. He lives on a houseboat in King's Cross, London, with his wife and two children

I had been living in a flat in Hackney until about 14 years ago. My girlfriend – now my wife – lived on a canal boat, and when we wanted to move in together, it seemed a lot more appealing than my place.

We've changed boats since then. Now we live on a converted cargo butty that was built in 1936. It's a beautifully spacious boat and when the sun's out you get shafts of light flooding through the portholes.

It's great because you're in central London yet you're surrounded by water, trees and wildlife. We get kingfishers, swans and a family of geese that returns each year. When you step off the street on to the canal, you enter a quieter, gentler world.

There's also a great sense of community here. We're always in and out of each other's boats and looking after each other's pets or borrowing pints of milk. We're friends with the fishermen who come down, and go out and rescue their tackle if it gets caught in a branch. My daughter, who's two and a half, has grown up with our neighbours as if they were family. It's a really nice way to live and rare nowadays, especially in London.

One disadvantage to boat living is the limited space, which drives me mad sometimes. And often after work you really don't feel like lugging coal around and lighting fires. But I would quite miss it, too.

Interesting? Click here to explore further