HWD draws it, then walks you through every room before you meet a builder.









Every word you chose is a room, a window, a direction. Scroll and watch it become a house.
Bench along the north glass, island for six, the fridge behind matching joinery.
Bath under the high window, walk-in shower, wall-hung everything.
One long room facing north, sliding doors the full width, the sofa turned to the light.
Off the living room under the same roof. Room for a long table and most evenings.
Every room you just walked through, priced against the allowances in your contract. Move any word and the number moves with it.
A council drawing, a builder's brochure, a sketch on graph paper. It comes back as a set of rooms HWD knows the size of — floors, walls and openings where they were, drawn the way everything else here is drawn.
And says which evidence it used — a dimension line, a door leaf, a window code — so you can correct it in one field instead of trusting it.
Ground and upper on one origin and one scale, so a wall lands under the wall above it on every sheet.
Splayed corners, angled frontages, bowed and curved walls. The rooms stop where the wall does.
HWD places every door and every piece of furniture against the room it is in — the swing of each door, the run of each window, and what has already been set down. Checked on every home it draws, every time it builds.
A door goes near a corner so the long wall survives, and is hung so the open leaf lies across the corner rather than along the wall you wanted to put the bed on. It is the kind of thing you only notice when it is wrong.
Free to design, free to walk through. When you want the files, they come out at full fidelity — one scale across every sheet, both floors on the same origin.
Nobody has to redraw anything to start.
Say it in a few words. Walk through it tonight. Know the number before you sit down with a builder.