Mick Hartley

From the Weekend Supplement: A Life in the Day talks to top designer and creative consultant Michael Hartello.

I used to need an alarm clock, but with three kids it’s unnecessary. I’m up at 6.30, thanks to Agnese, who rushes into our room, bursting with energy, and starts talking about all the things she has to do that day. The breakfast things are laid out by our help the previous evening, so it’s just a question of pulling orange juice out of the fridge. I have cornflakes, toast, carrot juice and coffee with milk. We sit by a big window that looks out on the countryside.

For me light is very important. The house is full of huge windows. I asked the great Japanese architect Issiko Tezamori to make it as private as possible (from the road it can’t be seen), but it wasn’t easy as the countryside is very flat. What Issi did was create embankments and sink the house, which is made of cement and glass, into the ground. I inherited from my father, Bernard, a passion for architecture and modern art. And I see our home as a way of creating art, rather than just inheriting or buying it. I love the early 20th-century futurists. Our youngest daughter, Luce — Light — is named after the daughter of Filippo Marinetti.

The right clothes can energise. Sweaters jeans and trainers are part of my relaxation wardrobe, but for work I wear a classic pinstripe suit — with casual shoes. I’m ashamed to admit I drive a 4×4 to work, but I think I’ll sell it soon. It’s important to be aware of environmental concerns.

The first thing I do in the office is scan two or three papers and of course the FT. I used to go to the sports pages first, but I don’t have time now. Two or three espressos help me through the morning.

I’ve moved away now from individual clients. I leave that to my very capable staff. I’m developing a creative holistic approach to design which can be tailored to meet specific needs. It’s important when dealing with creativity to stand back and allow ideas to breathe. I think we underestimate the power of generality.

People say I’m obsessive. That may be true. I prefer to think of myself as focused. To be as successful as I am, though, it’s important to give Fortuna, the goddess of chance, enough space to work her magic.

For me, excellence is a prerogative, like fine wine.

If things aren’t too busy at work, I’ll drive home for lunch with Fitty [Fitronella, Michael’s Italian wife, former model, and owner of Impridora, the Chelsea textile boutique]. Pasta and salad, nothing fancy: perhaps some viticentura olives, parmicchio, and a slice or two of olfamadoro, or thinly sliced raw beef. If I eat at my desk, there’s no break. I could slow down, but once I’m in what I call my creative space, it’s important not to let the ideas go. In the afternoon I’ll have a croissant and tea (always Earl Grey, no milk).

Fashion is a harsh mistress, but a generous companion.

We own a villa on the Grand Canal in Venice. We go regularly to see my wife’s relatives, who live there. The city is magical. I’m fascinated by how the locals live, how they walk everywhere, what they eat, their dialect. But I see more airports than I’d like, as I travel about 10 days a month. I’ve just got back from Senegal, and my next trips are to Central America and the USA, with visits to Paris and Tokyo in between. I like being in other places — it’s getting there that can be tough.

To stay flexible in one’s mind yet fixed in one’s commitment – that takes a special kind of dedication. That’s something my father taught me.

Twice a week I’ll leave the office just before 6.30 to do a two-hour workout at the gym we have at home, and perhaps swim in the pool. Right now I’m doing Pilates. When there’s no workout I’ll have dinner with my family at about 8. The kids tell me about their day, and I help them with homework.

My parents brought me up to fend for myself, and I was taught about duty. This is what I teach my children. I treat them as mature individuals. It doesn’t mean they can’t be childish, but they have to be responsible. They’re free to decide which sport they take up, but they must follow the rules and respect the teacher. Fitty was a skiing champion, so she believes in discipline. She and the kids stay at our house in the Alps for two months a year. Last time they didn’t even switch on the TV once.

For me, existentialism is less a philosophy than an accommodation with time.

When the kids are in bed, Fitty and I chat about the day. As well as the boutique, she does work for Unicef, and an association that does leukaemia research. It’s important that we can talk openly about our thoughts and our dreams. Fortunately Fitty and I share the same sense of humour, so we often find ourselves doubled up with laughter. I can’t imagine living with someone if you can’t laugh with them. For me humour is a vital ingredient in a marriage. It helps to keep one sane – and keep one’s feet on the ground. With Fitty around, there’s no danger of me taking myself too seriously!

Later we watch the news, I’ll catch a sports programme, or we’ll watch a film. Then it’s bed.

I fall asleep immediately. I’ve burnt enough energy during the day.

Next week we’ll be interviewing another self-important dickhead interesting figure who is considerably wealthier than you.