If my dinner was really hot I'd put my fork up to my eye and look at my little brother through the steam coming off the food. He'd say: "Mum, he's looking at me through his fork again." It sent him insane.

I once went, with my dad, to have afternoon tea for my birthday at the house where Rudyard Kipling finished The Jungle Book. Wonderful.

When I was at art college a can of Spray Mount adhesive cost £12 – £2 more than my weekly food bill.

I like how food can look incredible more than I like eating it. I started moving food around the plate to make it appear I'd eaten more, but then enjoyed making faces on the plate – peas for eyebrows, Yorkshire puddings for eyes.

Rather than order room service, which I then don't eat any of, I think it's best to stick to Babybels and Hula Hoops or pickled onion Monster Munch. I quite like bacon sandwiches because they're colourful. Mashed potato on toast is fine. But colourful and easy to eat is best.

When we'd visit my nan in Elephant and Castle, she'd have green liquor on her pie and mash. The Mighty Boosh song "Eels" came from a fascination with old and new cultures mixing and an old cockney geezer viewing modern food with disdain – "Sushi? I'm talkin' about eels, boy." Eating phallic, demonic live eels is the most hideous meal imaginable, in a way.

There's something amazing about tea. It's good before a meal, after a meal, when drunk, when taking drugs, while playing football and after being called a poof in the street. I like the idea, vibe and tea of a tea party and enjoy a game of inventing Mad Hatter's guest lists. I'd want Donald Cammell, obviously. And Salvador Dali, Judas, Joan Jett and Picasso. And let's throw Hitler into the mix; I hear he was an interesting after-dinner speaker.

We made voroccas on tour – our name for various vodka & Berocca concoctions. Our only rider was basically lots of juices to keep people alive. Once we tried to make a smoothie with vodka and onion and it stank out the whole theatre and the management were well furious.

I've got a beautiful kitchen, which looks like a 60s version of space, with silver chrome, orange glass work surfaces and brown leather, and it's entirely visual and has little function. I've hardly got any knives and there's only one wooden spoon and one saucepan. But I think I've got a cheese grater, so that's good.

Noel Fielding's exhibition Bryan Ferry vs the Jelly Fox is at Gallery Maison Bertaux, 28 Greek Street, London W1 until 5 January. For more info: hooliganartdealer.com