The power station is a ghost like ruin that stands on the banks of the Thames. Its right next to the train tracks rolling out of London to the rest of the south of England. I pass it every time I go back to where I grew up and every time I arrive back in London. It has become symbolic with arriving and departing, a constant in my life. I used to joke and refer to it as my lover - seeing me off and welcoming me home.

Having spent many years studying there, I have a soft spot for Central Saint Martins, which finally closed in September 2011 when the college relocated to Kings Cross. Despite being such a dive, the old building had such history and character and I grew very fond of its tatty charms. As plans for its take over by Foyles bookshop go ahead, I look forward to having a coffee in the new building's cafe when it re-opens.

A beautiful old school bookshop, floor to ceiling photo books. Heaven.

Where 1984 of George Orwell got its inspiration from, the craziness of a real ministry of propaganda. 

Built by my Dad and I in the rafters of an old peanut factory in Hackney Wick, I have slept and scribbled in this space for a number of years now. I enjoy being instantly confronted by the days task as soon as I wake. Despite the lack of natural light and paper thin walls this studio is great place to produce work. By far my favourite edition to the space of late has been my hammock.