I used to really object to it, until I took the trouble to look it up in the dictionary: it actually means 'flaming arch' and is a very specific architectural term, so it's meaningless when applied to anything other than the corner of a 14th-century French Gothic cathedral. I suppose with me they meant something outgoing, unnecessarily decorated and very difficult to ignore.

I've always been interested in fashion and the history of art, which I think has had a subliminal affect on how I dress. When you choose how to dress and how to look, you are advertising exactly who and what you are, without really having to utter a word. I take that quite seriously . . .

it's a bit of a calling card for me as an interior designer.

People can look at me and know they will be getting something eye-catching.

I've always enjoyed wearing a suit. My suits are nearly all from William Hunt of Savile Row. He has the perennial problem of being tailor to the worstdressed man in London, which is either me or Jonathan Ross, depending on how everyone's feeling at the time. Sometimes I'll give William material and say, "Please make a three-piece suit out of this curtain, it's gonna look fab!" and he'll try to persuade me out of it.

I will spend an enormous amount of time considering what to wear each day, but once I've decided then that's it . . . I'll stick with it, even if I feel it's not quite right. The downside to that selfassurance is that you make your commitment to that little corner of your wardrobe that morning and then looking back you think, 'Hmm interesting', was I aware of the Twanky-esque implications of that outfit?

What I was wearing five or six years ago was very confrontational, it was a thick, chunky, chewy version of who I am;

nowadays everything is a bit more tactfully diluted.