
The tiny kitchen series
Twelve episodes turning a four-square-metre kitchen into one that seats two, with every receipt shown on screen.
I'm Sofia Lund. Four years ago I bought a tired two-room flat with original floors and terrible wiring, and started filming what I learned. Today around two hundred thousand people follow along for the sanding, the swearing and the moment a cupboard door finally hangs straight.
New video every Thursday evening.
Everything is filmed in my own flat or the community workshop down the road. If a job needs an electrician, you will see me call one.

Twelve episodes turning a four-square-metre kitchen into one that seats two, with every receipt shown on screen.

Which ten tools you need for a rented flat, which five you can borrow and which one to never buy cheap.

Furniture from the recycling centre, restored over one weekend. The bench from episode ninety is still my favourite.
Four years, two rooms, one kitchen and a hallway I am still avoiding.
Lifted three layers of lino, found the original pine boards and learned to sand without gouging them.
Moved the sink, built open shelves from offcuts and kept the original larder door.
Hired a licensed electrician and filmed every step I was allowed to help with.
Floor-to-ceiling wardrobes from birch plywood, with a workshop series for anyone building along.
“I fitted my own kitchen shelves after watching Sofia mess hers up first. Seeing the mistake was the useful bit.”
“The Saturday workshop got me from scared of the drill to hanging a door by lunchtime.”
“Sofia turned down our first brief because the product did not fit her flat. The second one worked, and sold out.”
No. Wiring is done by a licensed electrician, and I say so in every video where it appears.
Yes. Most guests have never used a power tool. Groups are capped at eight, so everyone gets time on the bench.
Only tools and materials I already use in the flat. Every paid partnership is labelled at the start of the video.
Not the flat, it is my home. The workshop, yes: open studio afternoons happen once a month.
Weekend workshops on sanding floors, hanging doors and building simple shelves. Eight people, one long table and fika at half time.
Workshop questions, brand partnerships and press all land here. I read every message myself on Mondays.
A short letter every Sunday morning: the week's project, one tool tip, one thing that went wrong and a link to something lovely someone else built.