Stop Designing the Floor Plan Before You’ve Found the Sun
Short version: Put bedrooms and living rooms on the east and south sides for morning light and passive heat. Shove utility rooms, bathrooms, and garages to the north. The shell (weather-tight structure) eats 55-60% of a turnkey budget, so orientation is free—but get it wrong and you’ll pay for it in energy bills for decades.
I’ve lost count of the plans that arrive with the living room facing north Honestly, it’s the first thing I check. A client emails me a sketch they’ve been doodling for months, and there it is—the big glazed south wall, but it’s the garage. Or the master bedroom facing the street, which is north, and the kitchen tucked into the dark. I get it: you’re thinking about the view, the driveway, the neighbour’s fence. But the sun is the one thing you can’t move later. You can change the kitchen island, you can swap the bath for a shower, but you cannot re-rotate the house once the foundations are poured. So let’s talk about where things should actually go.
South and east are for living; north is for hiding things Here’s the simple rule I give every client: wake up with the east, live with the south, and push everything you don’t care about to the north. East-facing bedrooms mean you get the morning sun—it’s gentle, it’s warm, and it gets you out of bed. West-facing bedrooms get hammered by late afternoon heat in summer, and you’ll be lying there at 8pm wondering why the room feels like a bread oven. Living rooms and kitchens—the places you actually spend time—want south and east. South gives you low winter sun that slants in and heats the floor; east gives you that bright, optimistic morning light. The north side is for the utility room, the downstairs loo, the pantry, the garage. They don’t need light. They need to be out of the way. I’ve seen houses where the laundry room faces south and the living room faces north—and you can feel the mistake the moment you walk in. The living room is cold and grey in January, and the laundry is a sauna. It’s daft.
A double-height void is a thief, not a feature I’ll say it plainly: I’m not a fan of the double-height void unless you’re building a cathedral. Every square metre of that void is floor area you’ve lost upstairs—and it’s also a thermal chimney. Heat rises, so all your warm air collects at the top of that void, 5 metres above your head, doing nothing for you. You’re paying to heat a space you can’t sit in. If you want drama, put a tall window on the stairwell landing instead. And here’s the thing about the sun: a double-height void on the south side will overheat in summer unless you have serious shading, and it’ll be a cold draught source in winter. I’ve seen bills go up 20% just because of one of these voids. Keep the ceiling heights normal—2.4 to 2.7 metres—and let the light do the talking.
The kitchen triangle is a guide, not a law—but the sun still wins You’ve heard of the work triangle—sink, hob, fridge—and the guidance is roughly 1.2 to 2.7 metres between each. That’s fine, but it’s a starting point, not a gospel. What matters more is that your kitchen gets morning and midday light. If your kitchen is on the north side, you’ll be cooking in permanent gloom, and you’ll switch the lights on at 11am forever. I’d rather have a slightly awkward triangle in a bright room than a perfect one in a cave. Also, think about where the sun hits the worktop: if you prep food facing west, you’ll get glare in the evening. If you face east, you get the light but not the heat. Simple.
The shell costs more than you think, and the sun doesn’t cost anything Here’s a budget reality that shocks most people: the shell—the weather-tight structure, roof, walls, windows, doors—is roughly 55 to 60% of a turnkey budget. That’s before you’ve spent a penny on kitchens, bathrooms, or finishes. So the structure is the expensive bit, and orientation is free. You just have to get it right on paper. And don’t forget the rules on setbacks—guidance, not exact code, so verify with a local professional—but typical distances are about 3 metres from side and rear boundaries, and 5 metres from the street. Fire gaps between buildings can be 6 to 15 metres depending on wall material. That might push your house further from the south boundary than you’d like, which means you lose some winter sun. So when you’re looking at a plot, walk it at 10am and at 3pm in winter. See where the shadows fall. That’s the real design brief.
FAQ
- Can I put my bedroom on the west if I love sunsets?
- You can, but you’ll regret it in July. West rooms get hammered by heat from late afternoon until dusk. If you must, you’ll need external shading—blinds on the outside of the glass, not just curtains—and you’ll still be sleeping in a room that’s 3 degrees warmer than the rest of the house. East is better. South is a compromise if you need the view, but you’ll need good blinds for summer mornings.
- What if my plot only has good light on the north side?
- That’s a real situation, especially on narrow urban plots. You can still make it work, but you’ll rely more on rooflights and light wells, and you’ll need to be disciplined about glazing ratios—too much north glass loses heat. Consider a single-storey plan with a courtyard on the south, or push the house back to catch the sun over the boundary. But honestly, if the plot is north-facing and overlooked, I’d walk away.
- Does orientation really matter for energy bills, or is it just comfort?
- Both. A well-oriented house with south glazing can cut heating demand by 10-15% in a temperate climate, just from passive solar gain. That’s real money, not a fad. And comfort is the bigger win: a north-facing living room feels damp and miserable in winter, no matter how good the heating is. You’ll be cold at 5pm and you won’t know why. Orientation fixes that before you’ve even built the walls. What’s the one room in your current house that gets the wrong sun—and how would you move it in a new build?
(Norms and setbacks vary by country — treat specific figures here as guidance and verify with a local professional.)