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Sixty-five is a magic number. It brings
a certain freedom: the opportunity for
reinvention and self-expression. And while
some might wait for the age when NZ Super
kicks in, others jump the gun. Sixty-five is
still a magic number.
When Mt Eden residents Neil and Jill heard
that the parameters of the Auckland Unitary
Plan for their neighbourhood included an
as-of-right minor dwelling, they wondered
if they could live well on a 65-square-metre
footprint. The couple, now in their mid-fifties,
moved to the suburb in 2011, to a house
they called ‘The Tardis’: a 1920s bungalow
with a monstrous basement and four
double bedrooms.
“We loved the area, its proximity to town
and Eden Park, and being near so much
amenity,” says Neil. Although giving up work
was not imminent, they wondered if building
here could be the answer to an active
retirement. They consulted a planning friend,
stood on the elevated platform at the rear of
the section and dared to dream.
When they spoke to Pat de Pont of
Strachan Group Architects, he flipped the go
switch. “He gave us a lot of comfort from the
outset,” says Jill. She’s referring to de Pont’s
calm-mannered, no-nonsense approach. But
she could easily be talking about what he has
massaged into the limited space. Faced with
such spatial mastery, Neil put away his ownpreliminary sketches. “Pat came up with the
opposite of a square box and looked at how
to use light and natural energy,” says Jill.
A concrete path to one side of the original
bungalow leads to a set of floating timber
stairs at the entrance to the new home.
Where once a few fruit trees dotted a lawn
gone wild, there is now the ‘top’ house,
a domestic world in miniature.
Access was tricky, with only 2.5 metres
alongside the house, and the site is 3.5
metres above ground level. Faced with the
challenge of near neighbours to the north
and a volcanic rock building platform, de
Pont and the SGA team – Kelly O’Sullivan
and Brad Pearless – worked hard to make
every inch count. The result stretches space
like a rubber band – pulled to its limits but
remaining within the specified form. “We
stuck to the prescribed floor area,” says
de Pont. “The trick lies in interpreting the
rules around that.”
Excavations were kept to a minimum.
The building has a rafted concrete floor, walls
clad in Siberian larch, windows in anodised
bronze aluminium and a single, folded roof
that kicks up to the east. “I call it a cat slide,”
says de Pont. “It gets more volume into the
space and good morning sun.”
Within this, there’s the open-plan living
space, two bedrooms, a bathroom and
laundry. The bay windows that project
out from the second bedroom are fitted
with built-in shelving and a fold-up desk.
“Because they’re suspended, the bays don’t
count as part of the floor space,” says
de Pont. “But they give more area.” A fold-
down bed here is tucked away when Neil
or Jill work from home. This flexi-space is
separated from the living zone by a sliding
door that creates privacy or extra room
as the situation dictates.
Clerestory windows beneath ply ceilings
(which reach 3.6 metres at their highest
point) bring in light from all sides, but they’re
the only punctuation on the northern wall
where privacy was paramount. “When you
look out of the top windows, you only see
trees. It’s like you’re in a forest,” says Neil.
Internally, the house is urban and urbane.
There’s a focus on literature, art, music and
food. “We asked for a design that emphasised
the things we love,” says Jill. Three built-in
bookcases are crammed to capacity, Neil’s
vinyl collection is housed in a cabinet that
came up from the big house and the kitchen
has a rolling island bench with a built-in wine
rack. “It provides extra work space but we
can push it out of the way when we have
people around,” says Neil.
And that’s the general idea. Now that the
couple’s two grown children are spreading
their wings, Neil and Jill intend to live large
in their little home.1 — The bay windows and covered outdoor
deck add functional extra space without
breaking the 65-square-metre limit.
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