It's hard to say what first captures your attention when you open the door of this super-sized loft apartment in central London. Is it the crazily laid stone paving in the entrance hall or the stunning rosewood veneer that lines theinternal walls? The indoor cactus garden or the vast aquarium that allows you to see right into the bathroom while you're chopping away at the kitchen counter? The brilliant orange motorbike in the living space? Or quite simply that the owner is lighting the gas "real log fire"? With the remote control?
The property - think James Bond meets the Flintstones - belongs to a commercials director with a sense of humour that's as great as his tolerance of kitsch. He goes by the name of Palmer Kristofferson and is the sort of person who likes the fur bedcovers to be fake and the furniture to be exuberant: the Verner Panton chairs around the dining table are bright orange. Of course they are. Why not have a bit of fun? And, it has to be said, after the invariable arrangement of limestone, wenge, seagrass, slick Roman blinds and Eames recliners that make up the average high-spend interior these days, it's a relief to sit on a 1950s sofa clad in turquoise Dralon once in a while. Though perhaps one would draw the line at the 6ft rubber cactus that towers next to the television.
It's not all played for laughs, however. The provision of music and entertainment in this fun-filled interior has been executed with some rigour. Throughout the apartment are seven different pairs of speakers, each chosen to function perfectly in its designated space. They include two B+W speakers set flush into the kitchen ceiling; funky little glossy white "mini pods" by Blueroom, standing next to the retro repro TV in its big, shiny white casing; and two more polished stainless-steel models by Oheocha in the living area. The last are pneumatically curvaceous, not only for aesthetic reasons but for aural pleasure - the spherical shape apparently produces a bigger, rounder sound. And then there is the home cinema to consider. And the motorised jade velvet curtains in the bedroom. (I know: I used to call them "electric", too.)
The fact that the flat isn't an ugly tangle of wiring and hardware is due to the intervention of the Cornflake Shop, purveyor of high-fidelity toys. Cornflake doesn't just sell the goods, it sells consultancy, installation, total integration. It sends you consultants who know the history of the Rega turntable and the value of an Arcam DVD player. "I think the overall spend with us was about £40,000 for this place," says Cornflake's Chris Adair, who has returned to update the system. The waterproof control panel set in the bathroom (where the separate steam room has its own speakers set into its fibre-optically twinkly ceiling) is out of date, and the radios built into the bed's surround need connecting up to the client's iPod. Adair will introduce a new control system, so refined that Kristofferson won't have to point the remote at the fire any more. Simply pressing the word "Light" wherever he might be in the apartment will result in flickering flames in the hearth.
Adair loves this place. Partly, one imagines, because the client is more lively than some (the higher spenders being "bankers and people who own shipping lines".), but particularly for its home cinema, a dedicated darkened room in the centre of the apartment. There's a red shag carpet and a big bed. But also more than 1,000 DVDs and a proper CRT (cathode ray tube) projector, about to be upgraded from analogue to digital. The depth of the projected image is spectacular, the surround-sound is a joy.
"Everyone wants a home cinema these days," says Adair, "but they usually want it integrated into their sitting room. It works so much better in a separate room, however small. That way, you can totally involve yourself in what you're watching." Spending anything from £7,000 to £12,000 on hardware can provide a decent system. A huge amount, perhaps, but no more or less than people spend on kitchens and cars. Having found myself at 10.30 in the morning reclining on a faux fur bed completely immersed in Lord Of The Rings (a film that seemed unwatchably dull at the cinema), I almost find myself agreeing that the new kitchen can wait
· The Cornflake Shop, 020-7323 4554.
