A period front room in Painswick, Cotswold stone outside, a wonky wall on every side, and the owners wanting herringbone. This is one of my favourite jobs to do, so here’s how one actually goes, from the first knock on the door to the last length of scotia.
The first visit
I bring the samples to the house, every time. Herringbone is the one floor you cannot choose off a phone screen: the light in a Painswick front room, coming through old glass, does something to a wood tone that a photo never shows. We put the Karndean Art Select blocks down on the actual floor, in the actual light, next to the actual skirting, and the right one usually picks itself in about ten minutes.
Then I measure, and I measure the walls too, not just the floor. In a cottage this old nothing is square, and a herringbone pattern is merciless about it — it shows every degree the room is out. Knowing that now decides where the pattern starts later.
The subfloor comes first
Nobody photographs this bit, and it’s the bit the whole floor stands on. Old cottage floors are rarely flat and rarely dry. We lift what needs lifting, let the base breathe, then latex and level it until a long straightedge finds no gap. Skip this and herringbone telegraphs every hollow and every ridge within a year — and with a pattern floor there’s nowhere for a lump to hide.
Setting out — the bit that matters
Here’s where a herringbone job is won or lost. You do not start against a wall. You find the true centre line of the room, snap it, and dry-lay the first run of blocks along it before a drop of adhesive goes down. Get the centre line and the first few blocks right and the whole floor marches straight to the edges; get it wrong by a couple of degrees and the pattern drifts wider the further it goes, and by the far wall it’s obvious to anyone.
In a room that’s out of square — which in Painswick is every room — you’re balancing the pattern so the cut blocks at opposite walls look even. That’s judgement, done on your knees with the dry blocks, before you commit.
Laying it
Once the set-out’s right, the laying is calm. Blocks go down into the adhesive off the centre line, both directions, keeping the joints tight and the points sharp. Art Select’s embossing means you keep an eye on grain direction as you go so it reads as a proper woven herringbone, not just a zig-zag. It’s steady, quiet work, and it’s very satisfying to watch a room fill in.
The border and the edges
A herringbone floor wants a border to frame it — usually a double row of blocks run square to the room, which also swallows the awkward cottage angles neatly. The perimeter blocks get scribed to the wall, not just cut straight, so the floor follows every bow in the old plaster instead of leaving a gap you could lose a coin in. Then the scotia or the threshold bars, cut and mitred, and the floor is done.
What you’re left with
A floor that looks like it was always meant to be in that room, cut in tight to every original wonky wall, that’ll take the family, the dog and the wood burner for years and only ask to be swept. That’s the job.
Thinking about herringbone in your own place? That’s exactly what the free home visit is for — the real samples, in your light, with straight advice and no hard sell. There are real herringbone floors I’ve laid in the room finder too.