The house is round. Not roundish. Not curved at the front. It is a circle, a full brick circle, with a second smaller circle stacked on top and a ring of white railing around each one. There are no corners to hide in. Is it a spaceship? Is it a hat Melania Trump will wear to a state dinner in 2028? So many questions, and they all lead back to “why?”
Now read the agent’s write-up. It calls this a “rare and one-of-a-kind masterpiece” that “sets a new benchmark in architecture”. It runs to roughly 700 words. It tells you the bedrooms take king-size beds, that the cooktop is a Fiori, and that there is a bus stop across the road. At no point does it mention that the house is round. That is like selling the Opera House and leading with the parking.
Alishia, who sent this one in, filled the gap: “This is a very well known house in Minchinbury. It has fondly been known as the ‘round house’ and can be seen when driving down the Great Western Highway.” So the whole of Western Sydney knows. The only person who hasn’t been told is the agent.
Since the listing won’t do it, we will. Here is the house, room by room, with a corner count.
The front. Corners: none. The facade is a brick curve with French doors set into a flat sandstone panel, and that panel is doing all the work of looking like a normal house. Above it, the upper storey sits back from the edge like the top tier of a cake. An arched cantilever carport swoops off to the side toward a garage, because even the carport refused to be straight.
The living room. Corners: none. You step down into it. It is 84 square metres, tiled in white, with carpeted steps running round the edge like seating at a small amphitheatre. A curved cream lounge follows the wall. A red cone fireplace stands in the middle of it all with a black flue that runs up past the balcony and keeps going. There is a projector screen for the home theatre, which the house has no need for, since the living room already looks like a set.
The staircase. Corners: none. It curves, naturally, rising from the pit to a balcony that bows out over the room below in a series of bulges. It looks like the hull of something. We’re not saying a spaceship. We’re not ruling it out.
The rumpus. Corners: none. Upstairs, 52 square metres of polished timber wrap around the inside of the upper ring, with exposed brick, remote shutters and a rail looking down into the living room. The agent suggests it could be a retreat or an entertainment area. It is a roller rink. Everyone who walks in will know it is a roller rink.
The roof. Corners: none. Through double doors you come out on to a 238 square metre deck that circles the whole upper storey, fenced with white railing. The listing says it would hold 60 people. It also describes the views as “360 degree”, which is the closest the write-up ever comes to admitting the shape of the building. From the street it reads as a viewing platform. From the air it reads as a landing pad. Either way you could walk laps up here until someone calls you in for tea.
The kitchen. Corners: a few, under protest. Black granite, white cupboards, a double fridge, a Bosch dishwasher. The ceiling, though, curves along with the outer wall. The house is reminding you, gently, that it’s still round.
The bedrooms. Corners: technically. All five sit on the ground floor around the living room, and the floorplan shows they are cut like slices of pie, narrow at the inner wall and wide at the curved outer one. Each still takes a king bed with built-in robes, and the main has a walk-in robe with a make-up table and an ensuite. These are the only rooms where you could stand someone in a corner as a punishment, provided you pick the right corner.
Out the back. Corners: you would think so. The listing calls it a “brick, one and a half car garage” and leaves it there. The floorplan tells the truth. The garage is round. It is a second, smaller brick circle, about 6.8 metres across, joined to the house by the carport, with a wedge-shaped storeroom bolted to the side. Somebody built a round house, looked at it, and decided the car deserved one too. Add the side and rear lawns and a rotary clothesline, which is also round, and the block is running at three circles and counting.
The listing also suggests the house could become a doctor’s surgery or offices, subject to council approval. Picture it. You come in through the arched French doors, take a number, and wait in the pit by the red fireplace while the receptionist calls you from the balcony.
So, why? We still don’t know. Somebody in Minchinbury decided that a house should be a circle, built it in double brick so it would never fall down, and then put a running track on the roof. Commuters on the Great Western Highway have been looking at it for years. Now it’s for sale, price on request, with five bedrooms, three car spaces under cover, and room for four more on the drive.
Whoever buys it, please do one thing for us. Fix the listing. Write the word “round” in it somewhere.
