I can’t help it – I’m obsessed with the future we were promised in the 30s, 40s and 50s. The Jetson family experience was just around the corner, neon signs were works of art, and buildings were stucco palaces. A place where burgers were roto-broiled, and bathrooms were pink and black. Scientists never delivered the flying car, and the self-cleaning house is still on the way – but, as I look around my Deco abode, with its tubular goldfish bowl, bakelite kitchenware, and brightly glazed pottery, I’m quite content. As long as there’s something in the cocktail cabinet, and daddy-o’s on on the patio, life is good.