Specify for the job: the reading corner wants upright support, a shallower seat like the Sophia's 58cm and a firmer fill; the telly sofa wants width, the 60 to 65cm depths and a corner or chaise so the whole household lands; the nap machine wants the Barton's 70cm of depth and a feather-led fill. Most houses contain at least two of these jobs, which is the real argument for rooms with more than one kind of seat.

People walk into showrooms asking for a comfortable sofa, which is like walking into a kitchen shop asking for a useful pan. Comfortable for what? The body reading Trollope at a lamp wants the opposite of the body horizontal through a film, and both differ from the body claiming a Sunday afternoon. So here are the three honest job descriptions, written so you can recognise your room in them.

The reading corner: posture with a lamp

Reading is upright work disguised as leisure: the book is held, the neck is engaged, and a seat that swallows you swallows the posture too. So the reader's specification runs counter to the lounging instinct: shallower depth so the back is met while feet keep the floor, the Sophia's 58cm with its higher 50cm seat being the range's natural scholar; a firmer fill, Origin or the latex core, that supports an hour without a slow subsidence; box edge cushions for structure; and supportive arms at a height that holds a book or an elbow. An armchair in the same specification serves a corner where a sofa would crowd it, and the footstool earns tenure here, because feet up with posture intact is the reader's whole geometry. Put it by the light, give it a table for the tea, and that corner will out-earn every other seat in the house.

The telly sofa: the family lands here

Film night is a volume business: bodies arrive in unpredictable numbers and orientations, someone always lies along, someone sits on someone, and the dog completes the arrangement. The specification is therefore generosity in every axis: width first, more seats than the census suggests, because capacity is measured in sprawl rather than sitting; the welcoming 60 to 65cm depths, the Coco and the Felix territory, deep enough to gather legs without defeating the upright minority; the corner or chaise configurations that let one piece hold many directions of lounging at once; and the 70/30 feather-over-foam fill, soft enough for the slump, recoverable enough for tomorrow, forgiving of popcorn-era life when dressed in a washable loose cover. This is also where the floated layout shines: the big sofa facing the screen with the room flowing behind it, which a free floor plan will prove before you commit.

The nap machine: the Sunday appointment

Some sofas are bought, whatever anyone claims at the showroom, for the nap, and we honour the brief without judgement. The specification is simple and absolute: depth above all, which means the Barton and its 70cm, the only seat in the range generous enough to lie along entirely, to the point that it honestly doubles as a single bed; a feather-led fill, because napping is a sink-in act and the all-feather or 70/30 options supply the embrace; knife edge cushions for softness; and a washable cover, because face-down sleep is not a formal activity. Set it slightly out of the household's main current, where afternoon light lands, and accept that whoever claims it first on Sunday holds it by ancient right.

Questions, answered honestly