Let’s be honest: a house in Richmond, London, costs more than a small island. It’s not a hut in the jungle, but it’s also not a space station. It’s a very nice, very normal old house that happens to belong to a man who has literally shaken hands with a chimpanzee. The irony is delicious. He owns a property that’s worth a fortune, yet he spends most of his time in the garden, staring at a slug.
You almost get the sense that if you visited, he’d offer you a cup of tea and then immediately launch into a ten-minute commentary on the ant colony under his patio slabs. “Fascinating! Look at their social structure! More sugar?” He’s invited the whole world into his mind, but his actual front door is surprisingly ordinary.
David Attenborough’s London sanctuary where he's 'approaching end of life'
The Commute of a Legend
His commute to work is basically a walk to his home office or a short trip to the local BBC studio. He doesn’t own a private jet; he takes the train. I picture him on a London Overground, sitting quietly, while a teenager on a phone misses the fact that the most famous naturalist on Earth is right there, reading a book about fossils. “Mum, this old bloke is looking at my TikTok.” “Hush, darling, let him be.”
The truth is, David Attenborough lives where most of us would if we had his money and taste: a peaceful, unpretentious spot that feels like a sanctuary. He’s seen the volcanoes and the coral reefs, and he chose a place he can walk to the pub. It’s the ultimate sign of a grounded human being. The man has a colony of termites, but he also has a wheelie bin.
So, the next time you see him on screen, dangling from a cliff, just remember: he’s one bus ride away from a Greggs sausage roll. He’s not a mythical creature; he’s your cool, majestic granddad who just happens to narrate the entire planet. And his house? It’s probably a lot like yours—just with more frogs in the garden and a slightly better view of the hedge.
