The future of living

I awaken slowly and check my phone. I glance at the time. Still early. I quietly slide out of bed. The apartment senses movement and the ambient lighting softly activates. The curtains remain closed — my wife is still asleep, and I am under strict instructions not to disturb her before coffee.

I head to the bathroom. Freshened up, I get changed into my gym kit in the private dressing area beside the bathroom. I throw some jeans and a t-shirt into my bag. I walk to the main room and activate the main doors on the Magic Box - the kitchen reveals itself. I never tire of watching the beautiful elegance of this motion.

I open a cupboard, grab a glass and fill it with cold water from the automatic fridge dispenser. I drink it while leaning against the worktop and leave the glass there. I sit in the work alcove and quickly check emails. Then I grab my bag, jacket and shoes from the wardrobe and head downstairs to my private members’ club.

The gym downstairs is exceptional. Workout. Sauna. Shower. I get dressed in the changing rooms and head into the lounge area where I order a smoothie, at cost price — one of the many joys of TWIL living. I meet my trainer to review my workout plan for the coming week and catch up on a few calls. This is one of the most appealing things about living at TWIL. Your apartment is beautiful. But the building itself becomes a seamless extension of your home.

I head back upstairs, but on the way drop my gym kit into the in-house laundry service. Again: cost price. Honestly, once you get used to this level of convenience and service, normal residential living feels totally unacceptable. I open the apartment door. My wife is now awake and in the shower.

I put my bag into the wardrobe and walk to the main room. I activate the curtains and sunlight floods the apartment. The bed, however, is a complete mess. I flatten the duvet and pillows into something vaguely respectable and press the button to redeploy the bed. The bed begins to glide away…and then stops. A warning signal sounds. The motion detector has identified an object on the floor blocking the bed path. Apparently, a sock has decided to challenge the advanced engineering. I pick it up, place it in a drawer and reactivate the deployment. The bed fully retracts.

Within moments, the apartment has transformed. Bedroom gone. Beautiful living room restored. Through my iPhone, I activate the sound system and full wall projector TV. My YouTube playlist starts filling the apartment. Before I know it, I hear my wife emerging from the bathroom and heading into the private dressing area. I decide to surprise her. Now that the bed has disappeared, I deploy the dining table and start making breakfast.

We sit together at the dining table, chatting, eating and planning our day. After breakfast we clear the table and load the dishwasher. We have learned one important rule of TWIL living: clean as you go. “Future You” will always be grateful. This sense of orderliness suits us…messy environments are not conducive to wellbeing and will lead to expensive divorce. I relax on the sofa and catch up on my weekly Economist reading. My wife remains at the dining table. She closes the kitchen doors because, in her words: “If I can see the kitchen, I’ll continue thinking about food.” A completely reasonable position.

She heads downstairs briefly to get some “proper coffee” because apparently mine still doesn’t meet international standards. When she returns, the dining table officially becomes her home office for the morning. For me, I love the work alcove. Even when we are both working in the apartment, we somehow still have privacy and personal space. Which should not really be possible in 35 sqm. And yet here we are. I book a cleaner from my iPhone to come at 5pm, and request the apartment is left in kitchen and dining mode.

As lunchtime approaches, we head downstairs to the club. The food is ridiculously good. And absurdly cheap for what it is. The Caesar salad alone deserves its own Michelin star. After lunch, we usually book seats in the private cinema for the Saturday afternoon screening. Booking ahead is essential. Everyone in the building has realised the same thing we have: Why leave?

After the film, my wife disappears into one of the club’s “massage sleep pods” for what she describes as “a restorative wellness experience.” I describe it more accurately as: “A luxury nap.” Meanwhile, I head down to the basement, collect an electric bike and ride into town to meet an old friend for coffee.

Later that afternoon, I return with some shopping and collect my laundry from the club. My wife and I are reunited back at the apartment. My parents are arriving in two hours and are staying for a couple of days. Thankfully, I’ve already booked them one of the short-stay apartments within our residence. This is another genius part of TWIL. Guests can stay close enough to feel welcome. But not so close that everyone ends up needing therapy. Although, to be fair, my wife decides she requires therapy anyway and heads downstairs to the salon. I accompany her and disappear to the pool for a swim before showering and changing (again).

When I return to the apartment, my wife is sitting in the work alcove applying makeup. I suppose that also qualifies as work. She is in an unusually good mood. The salon clearly works. We sit together on the sofa, pour ourselves a drink and I show her the latest YouTube review of the new BMW on the big screen. She’s convinced. I’m thinking that was easy…perhaps I should have pitched the Aston Martin?

Early evening arrives. My parents call to say they are ten minutes away. We head down to the lobby to welcome them. We first take them to their apartment and leave them to freshen up. Then we all meet on the roof terrace for pre-dinner drinks. The view across West London at sunset is extraordinary. The sort of view that makes everyone briefly reconsider their life choices.

We order dinner. The menu is truly excellent. And somehow still surprisingly affordable. We decide to have dinner sent to our apartment because we have too much catching up to do. In our apartment, dinner arrives via Tito, the delivery robot. My father is fascinated by Tito and insists on tipping it. Tito is happy to accept Amex. My mother wants one for home.

My parents are completely bowled over by the apartment. They simply cannot believe how luxurious and spacious 35 sqm feels. Which is the reaction TWIL residents become expectant of. Dinner finishes. The dishwasher gets loaded immediately. Because everyone knows: If you leave it until tomorrow, civilisation starts to collapse.

For dessert and coffee, we just can’t resist “Wynona’s Tennessee Diner” downstairs. So naturally, we go. Two hours later we are exhausted. We head back upstairs together and walk my parents to their apartment. We show them how to deploy the bed. They absolutely love it. In fact, they start discussing whether they should move into a TWIL residence themselves. Apparently, retirement now needs robotic furniture, rooftop cocktails, wellness facilities, and smart mood lighting. And honestly? Fair enough.

Back in our apartment, my wife heads to the bathroom whilst I return the dining table to sideboard mode and deploy the bed. The kitchen doors close. The lighting changes automatically. And once again, the apartment transforms.

There really is something magical about our apartment at night. I step onto the balcony and look out across the city skyline. My wife joins me. We both pause for a moment. We genuinely love this place. And despite everything we’ve done today — worked, exercised, hosted, entertained, relaxed, socialised, watched films, welcomed guests — the apartment never once felt compromised. Not cramped. Not temporary. Just… intelligent, intuitive, elegant.

We activate the curtains. We’ve configured our bedroom to feel like our favourite suite at the Four Seasons New York. It’s hard to believe this is only 35 sqm. But that’s exactly the point of TWIL.