It's becoming increasinly pleasant to spend time in what I laughably refer to as my “office”. The only thing I'm missing is a decent chair. I'm currently sat in a 6 year old thing from Ikea that offers minimal back support, and frankly disappointing arse support. The chairs at the office I frequent in Mornington Crescent are stunning. Almost too comfortable, leading to heavy eyelids at approximately 4pm, especially after a high-carb lunch. Anyway, I looked these chairs up on the net this afternoon – 500 quid. 500 quid??? I could get a second-hand Parker-Knoll recliner for that.

I'll point out a few items of interest as we move around. Top left, you'll notice a laptop, an external monitor, a pair of NS-10 speakers (probably the most loathed monitors on the planet, for reasons I can never quite understand) and the aforementioned chair with a Keatons tour t-shirt from 1992 draped over it. We toured the former Czechoslovakia, and were overjoyed to be presented with a stack of these on our arrival; less overjoyed to have the cost of them deducted from our already miserable fees. The tour wound up in some godforsaken muddy field near Svojice. They called it the “Czech Woodstock” festival. Ourselves and a political hippy funk band from Bradford called Kava Kava were the only representatives from the UK. Kava Kava went on at 6am, and managed to keep us snorting with hilarity by introducing a song to a bunch of pissed Czech skinheads by shouting very loudly “This songs abaht Margrit Fatcher!” Ridiculous. We took the stage at 7.30am, tired beyond belief, and amused ourselves by shouting Bono style “Alright! Anyone here from Stevenage?” Cue us: helplessly giggling unable to play the next song, cue Czech skins: slumped unconscious in muddy puddles as the sun lifted over the trees.

Top right, the last of the red vinyl furniture, the other two pieces having perished – including an armchair that I took apart and put in three bin liners to avoid having to pay Wandsworth Council to take it away. Note the microphone with improvised pop-shield, which is actually a pan guard to stop sizzling bacon spitting hot fat on your clothes. will be furious. And coated with fat. Bottom left: half finished cupboards courtesy of my talented father. A blind, recently attached to the wall and positioned – rather cleverly, I thought – in front of the window. And stuck to the wall with blu-tack, the sleeve of “Cubist Pop Manifesto” by bIG*fLAME, without which I wouldn't have got a guitar, joined a band, got married, got a mortgage, got divorced and got fat. C86 has a lot to answer for.

Bottom right, a door, with some “electric wood” hanging from the back of it. This is a block of wood with a flex and plug attached, which I received as a birthday present from the ever-inventive Kevin Burrows in about 1993. Lots of badges pinned to a board. A Spearmint poster, to remind me of the only people prepared to pay me money to produce their stuff.

I trust you enjoyed the tour. Apologies for any drying undergarments that may be lurking in any picture corners.