I’ve been in the trade man and stylish upholstered seating boy for unique armchair decades. Around these West End streets, people don’t buy just to sit. Young men with new flats, funky chair and they’re looking for furniture that will outlast them. A battered old wingback, never fails to speak up. There was a velvet sofa that went to a townhouse in Chelsea, and it carried his family through generations. That’s the Mayfair way. They waste time with flat-pack, but eventually they realise. Cheap wood snaps, whereas real furniture stays.

This city speaks through its homes. Kensington demands velvet, with velvet chairs. Brixton is bold, with colourful sofas. That’s the mix. Let me put it plainly, an armchair becomes memory. Mass production never delivers it. I still sit to see how it feels, and the right piece never lies. History sits with you. So when you’re tempted by the new, stop. Find yourself a vintage sofa, and let it settle into your life.