Members of our team are sharing their isolation stories in our series Notes from Home. Here, The Modern House co-founder Matt Gibberd shares his musings on the changed dynamics of family life, the restorative power of a good bath and staying sane in isolation.

“What is your profession? Whenever I’m filling out a form of some kind, this is the question that causes me to set down my quill and scratch my head with perplexity. I dunno. Company Director? Estate agent? Writer? It’s safe to say that these last few weeks in self-isolation haven’t helped. As it stands, any of the following would be admissible: handyman; IT support technician; chef; cleaner; fitness instructor; teacher (specialist in Phonics, Key Stage 1).

To all of you working parents out there: I feel your pain. Faye and I have three young daughters: Indigo, who is seven, and two-year-old twins, Wren and Etta. In our household, great tendrils of spaghetti spew forth from cooking pots like voracious beanstalks, and rivulets of wee-wee trickle under potties. I’m trying to conduct a press interview in the bedroom while Indigo chirrups along to the Sonos in the kitchen: “I’m a black man in a white world!”. People talk about using the self-isolation period to finally read War & Peace; I’m going through my own war to try and keep the peace, and there is certainly no time for reading.

For someone who is used to being proactive and making things happen, how are you supposed to readjust to this new stasis? I am not usually a worrier, but all sorts of questions have been going through my mind this week. Will this lack of social contact have a lasting effect on the children? Will not going to school cause a big hole in Indigo’s learning? Does my mum have enough food? Is this tightness in my chest caused by the coronavirus or a passing bout of tension?

And yet… outside of the chaos come moments of great clarity and gratitude. The Modern House is the most wonderful business. This week we have been looking at the end-of-year accounts with our management team, which tell the story of 33% annual growth against a backdrop of Brexit and a general election. Sure, we don’t expect the usual number of house sales over the next few months, but this is a temporary pause on a soaring trajectory. Albert and I are very fortunate to employ people more capable (and time-rich) than us to keep it moving forward. We continue to receive humbling messages of support from the members of our community, including this most recent example:

“Dear The Modern House team,

I would like to say thank you for your beautiful website, which I have been looking at every day to escape and dream… while I am staying and working from home. Hope all of you stay safe and well.”

Yes, my kids drive me crackers, but sometimes I glance up and find them having a spontaneous group cuddle, or working on a jigsaw puzzle together. Time at home has enabled me to indulge one of my great loves: cooking. Creating 21 meals per week using essentials from the store cupboard has been like one long Masterchef ‘invention test’ (sometimes I imagine Faye with the head of John Torode as she chews on a cannellini bean, ready to deliver her verdict). The kids have become less fussy, although Wren has developed chronic wind, which we put down to an unusually high intake of pulses.

We have been getting through a lot of Netflix in the evenings, graduating from programmes about terrifying serial killers to gentler comedies that better suit an uncertain psyche. We have grasped the opportunity to build some new beds for Wren and Etta. Faye has become the world’s leading expert on how to secure a supermarket delivery.

We are ever-more appreciative of the care and thought that went into creating our slice of home. Our handsome kitchen table was designed by Faye, and supports everything that modern life can throw at it, from family meals to craft sessions. The children jump around on their robust ‘Tripp Trapp’ chairs (was there ever a better piece of design than this?), while Faye and I perch on vintage ‘Superleggeras’ by Gio Ponti. And our vintage cast-iron bath provides a cossetting embrace for a weary body at the end of a long day.

My favourite thing is the doorknob on my wardrobe, which was also designed by Faye. It’s made of solid bronze, cast from a stone that she found on a mudlarking trip along the Thames. The imperfection of the shape, with its softly rounded edges forged by thousands of high tides, somehow works perfectly in the palm. Every morning I shake hands with it, and find a brief connection with nature.

Ah yes, nature. If there is one thing keeping us calm, it is that. The children have been wobbling around on balance bikes in our little garden, and chasing Red Admirals in the local woods. I have always had an infatuation with running, and having recently recovered from a knee injury, I’m skipping through the surrounding fields with the unbridled joy of a spring lamb (whilst occasionally flinging myself into a nearby hedgerow to uphold social distancing). Revelling in the meditative experience of placing one foot in front of another; taking in the aroma of blossom-filled bridleways; feeling the faint caress of the early-spring sunshine on my neck – never have I been so immensely grateful for the bucolic beauty of the English countryside.