
This must be the place. Deep in the sheep-sprinkled Cheshire moorlands, behind an unassuming farmhouse door, a creative whirlwind awaits us. Model aeroplanes swoop from the rafters. Craft knives, toy robots, aerosols and half-finished energy drinks jostle for desk space, while an art supplies cupboard spills with tins, palettes and brushes.
Perhaps most revealing of all, in this rock ’n’ roll edition of Through The Keyhole, is the paint-spattered canvas in one corner: a dead giveaway for anyone who came of age amid the bucket hats and loose-limbed beats of summer ’89.