As we fall out of love with open plan living, the snug is resurfacing on floorplans. Invariably the smallest room in the house, the snug can serve different purposes; library, den, study, music room – what they all have in common is privacy. Snug, just say it; even the word itself – the gentle curve of the ‘u’ embraced by the clasp of the ‘g’ – suggests an all-enveloping solitude.

With privacy comes the scope for self expression. The premise of open plan living is sharing and connectivity, all very contemporary. The snug is its old-fashioned opposite; tucked behind kitchens or sitting rooms, it is a highly personal space where we can, within reason, do what we want. It is the grown up version of our teenage bedroom. A solipsistic domain in which to surround ourselves with private, and meaningful, paraphernalia, even if might be of questionable taste.

‘It is a luxury, but to quote Virginia Woolf everyone should have a room of their own. Somewhere that reflects all sides of who you are. Because you don’t have to share it, you can fill it with all the stuff that you can’t bear to part with. It’s like a comfort blanket,’ says Emma Burns, a Managing Director of Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler. She cites a politician friend’s retreat where the walls bristle with US Democrat party paraphernalia. Or the ‘tiny’ music room designed for a Georgian townhouse, soundproofed and plumply lined with fabric so that her client can crank up the volume, without annoying the neighbours. Another rural client specified three snugs, based on her different collections; in one, antiquarian books are stacked lengthways, their spine facing inwards to show off the gold-edged pages which gleam by firelight, like buried treasure.

In what was a bathroom, Sarah Fuller has built a cosy reading nook in her house in Bath. Practically every inch of space has been used to house the wrap-around sofa.

Owen Gale

Emma’s own snug is the book room of her country cottage. Although it is a double-height space, the book-lined walls, deep armchairs and low lighting lend it a den-like allure. A ladder leads to her study on the mezzanine above. ‘It makes a good vantage point, where I can gaze down at my collection, like being in a treehouse.’ Nothing here is too precious, but everything is personal. The sofa, recovered in corduroy, belonged to her grandparents; Emma rescued the desk before it was thrown out by an office colleague; a set of engravings was found during a happy Saturday pre-sale browsing at Christie’s.

Snugs originated as quiet nooks in British pubs. In country houses, they were shadowy closets, tucked behind grander reception rooms which had all the windows – and natural light. Less draughty and more convivial than those communal spaces, the snug was a place to sew, play cards or instruments by a fire. It is where the real life of a house happened.