Before I moved in, I split the flat in two and the connecting door is always locked. The public half is very much what you’d expect: black velvet drapes, mirrored bar, jacuzzi in the middle of one room like an altar, sunken fireplace in another; thick carpets and leather; and an actual disco ball, because I have no shame. There are beds, too, in various flavours of decadence and excess, but very little that feels like home. The connecting door is behind a heavy curtain.