Where Does Michael Portillo Live Now

Let’s be honest: Michael Portillo doesn’t just live somewhere—he haunts the British railway network like a flamboyant, spreadsheet-wielding spectre. You half expect to see him in a high-vis jacket at Crewe station, tapping his watch while holding a 1983 copy of the Bradshaw’s Guide. But where does the man himself actually hang his timeless, power-shouldered blazer?

The Short Answer (Spoiler: It’s Not on a Train Platform)

Michael Portillo currently lives in West London—specifically, he owns a sprawling Victorian terraced house in the posh, leafy area of Notting Hill. Yes, the very same Notting Hill that Hugh Grant made famous for fumbling romance and blue front doors. Michael’s front door is likely painted a tasteful shade of “I once ran for Tory leader, you know.”

He bought the place back in the 1980s, when you could still afford a house in London without selling a kidney. According to property records, he’s been there ever since, which means he’s watched twenty-seven different incarnations of the Grand Designs host walk by his window.

The Interior: A Museum of Political Rail Memorabilia

You know his living room is a chaotic masterpiece of vintage train timetables, framed photographs of Margaret Thatcher, and at least one taxidermied panda from the Falklands War. If you visit, prepare to be offered a cup of tea while he explains the exact gradient of a 1962 branch line in rural Wales. He won’t stop talking until you’ve memorized the axle weight of a Class 31 locomotive.

His bathroom? It probably has a map of the Settle-Carlisle line tiled into the shower wall. I’m not joking—that’s a surprising fact: Portillo once admitted in an interview that he has a “train-themed bathroom” featuring a scented candle that smells of diesel and victory.

But Wait—He Has a Second Home (Of Course He Does)

Because Michael Portillo is essentially a human cat—he has multiple territories. He also owns a cottage in the South of France, in the sun-baked region of Provence. He bought it with his wife, Carolyn Eadie, who is a former accountant and, presumably, the only person who can tell him “no” when he suggests wallpapering the spare room with a diagram of the London Underground.

The French cottage is where he goes to escape the relentless clicking of train tracks. But let’s be real: he probably still takes a portable model railway with him. You can imagine him sitting on the terrace, sipping rosé, and muttering, “This viaduct in the valley… it’s a disgrace. They should have used rivets, not bolts.”

Does He Actually Live on a Train?

Here’s a hilarious truth: for six months of the year, Michael basically lives on a train. When filming Great British Railway Journeys, he spends weeks criss-crossing the country in first-class carriages. He has a favourite seat (seat 4A, facing forward, window on the right—obviously). He once told a journalist that he “sleeps better on a Pendolino than in his own bed.” That man is committed.

And his diet? It’s exclusively purchased from station cafés. He’s famously addicted to Ginsters pasties and mint Aeros. If you ever spot him in Paddington Station, he’ll be holding a paper bag of snacks, looking both regal and lost, like a peacock that accidentally wandered into a Greggs.

The Real Question: Why Does He Wear Those Suits?

You might think his wardrobe is part of his living situation—that he has a closet the size of a sleeper car, filled with thousand-pound blazers and silk pocket squares. Yes, but the real secret? He only owns 3 suits. No, really. He rotates them so aggressively that they’ve become a national meme. The pink suit. The magenta suit. The “I’ve just walked out of a raspberry bush” suit. He wears them until they disintegrate, then gets a new one in a slightly more alarming shade of crimson.

His wife, Carolyn, has zero influence over his sartorial choices. She’s probably given up. She now just says, “Looking sharp, dear. You’ll frighten the sheep in Cumbria.”

What About the Neighbours?

Living in Notting Hill, his neighbours include the likes of Robbie Williams and the occasional exiled oligarch. But does anyone actually see him? No. Because Michael Portillo moves like a train—he glides silently, leaving only a hint of cologne and the faint sound of a whistle. One local gossip site claimed he once “nodded at a dog” and then made a note in a reporter’s notebook.

Another surprising fact: he doesn’t have a car. He takes the tube. And when he does, he stands—even if there are empty seats. He’s told interviewers it’s because “standing is more connected to the journey.” I think it’s because he doesn’t want to wrinkle his blazer.

So, Where’s His Heart?

If you really want to know where Michael Portillo “lives,” forget the geography. He lives in the past, specifically in the golden age of British rail, circa 1960. He lives in a world where every station had a proper waiting room with a coal fire, and men wore hats. He lives on a platform between memory and nostalgia, forever clutching a paperback edition of Bradshaw’s Guide.

But physically? He’s at 34 Holland Park Avenue, London. Or in a train toilet filling out his expenses for the Ginsters pasty. Either way, he’s happy. And he’s probably wondering why you don’t own a suit in “Express Puce.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check the departure board. There’s a man in a fuchsia jacket waving at me from platform 3.