Somewhere in Bruce Rock, Western Australia, population somewhere south of a thousand people, there is a two-bedroom house shaped like a pyramid. Not pyramid-inspired. Not a nod to pyramids. An actual, structurally load-bearing pyramid, with a matching pyramid garage next to it, on a few acres with its own dam and its own pontoon, in case the main event wasn’t already enough. We have seen a lot of houses on this list. We have never before had to open with “so, ancient Egypt, but the wheatbelt.”
The Egypt of it all
Look, the pyramids of Giza took an estimated 20 years and tens of thousands of workers to build, were designed to survive for eternity, and house the remains of a god-king bound for the afterlife. This one houses a fridge, a spiral staircase, and, we assume, somebody’s ute. Both are triangular. That is where the similarities firmly end. And yet — you cannot look at a 45-degree corrugated-steel roofline running straight to the ground and not think about pharaohs, at least a little, at least for a second, and we suspect that is exactly the reaction the original builder was going for. Somebody in 1980s regional WA looked at the Seventh Wonder of the Ancient World and thought: yes, but smaller, and with air conditioning.
The pole
There is a pole. It runs through the middle of the living areas, floor to apex, doing the actual physics that makes a giant steel triangle stay upright instead of folding in on the people underneath it. We respect the pole enormously. The pole is doing more honest structural work than most brick veneer four-bedroom builds attempt in their entire lives. But you will live with that pole. It will be in your lounge room forever, a permanent reminder that you have chosen to live inside a shape, and shapes have consequences.
The regrets, alphabetised, as requested
We don’t know the original owner. We will never know the original owner. But if they do have regrets about this decision, in the interest of easy reference, here is how we imagine they’d be filed: Angles, difficulty of furnishing around; Bats, presence of, in roof cavity, hypothetical; Cleaning gutters, solved, ironically, by building the entire house on a diagonal instead; Doubt, general, 3am variety; Explaining it to visitors, exhausting, ongoing; Furniture shopping, IKEA does not sell trapezoidal bookshelves.
The dam, to be fair
We want to be clear that some of this listing is genuinely lovely. There’s a real dam with a real pontoon, fruit trees the current owner has clearly put real love into, and ground-level guttering that means nobody has to climb a ladder up the side of a pyramid, which, credit where it’s due, is a problem this house solved before it created several others. The kitchen is normal. The laundry/bathroom combo is normal. Everything up to the roofline is a completely reasonable rural property, and then the roofline happens, and reason leaves the chat entirely.
Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a dam, a matching pyramid garage, and a driveway lined with palm trees that seem to know exactly what they’re announcing. We don’t know why someone built this. We suspect they don’t fully know either. We just know that somewhere in Bruce Rock, there is a pyramid, and it is for sale, and somebody needs to buy it and never, ever explain themselves.
