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‘Hopefully, there will be somewhere like The Factory,’ he enthuses, ‘where artists can drop by and do their work, maybe set up an installation or perhaps play a gig – just to keep the motivational fires burning. I intend to exercise a certain amount of creative control, but not in any strict sense, because I want to be open to the flow and I may well be taught something as it goes along. There’s always been a romanticised notion of freedom in what I’ve done and if something gets in the way of that, then I’ll say “No, thanks very much”, even if it makes good business sense on paper.’

So, is Adamson looking for an actual, physical space from where Central Control will operate? ‘I don’t know. For now, this is Central Control,’ he declares, sweeping his arm around the café. ‘You chose where we were to meet, so for today, this is the Central Control office.’ Feature continues

Adamson won’t be drawn on exactly who he’s working with, either in terms of his partners or the artists he will be working with, but he does admit they number ‘about 25, at last count. At times I find myself interviewing people to find out what they’re about,’ he laughs, ‘what their traits are and where they want to rebel. It’s interesting to me to see where they might want to kick you and if they feel okay about doing it. With some people, it’s very clear that they’re about their own thing and your demise, so they don’t last long!’

The name Central Control has decidedly Orwellian overtones and perfectly suits Adamson’s spooks, loners and and misfits schtick, but there’s a surprisingly personal and poignant story behind it. ‘It came from when I was seven years old,’ explains Adamson, who was born with both arms and legs out of their sockets.‘ I woke up in hospital with plaster of Paris from my ankles to my chest and both my legs spread out wide, with an iron bar between them. I believed what really happened was I was taken in there by Central Control, who planted something in the back of my head to monitor me. This,’ he laughs, ‘is the mind of a seven-year-old. This is where my spy fixation came from!’

This, predictably, isn’t the sole reason behind the collective’s identity, however. ‘I’m very much obsessed with what JG Ballard calls “the central mystery”,’ he adds, ‘and Houellebecq has picked up on that – the Orwellian prophecy about where we’re going to end up. The world is very different from what it was even five years ago and that’s motivated me further to run inside, to the interior world of artistic expression rather than the world of overt commercialism, which I think is so degraded. I was looking through the paper recently and The Guardian’s wallchart of trees is almost like an anarchist statement at the moment, when you can flick on the TV and see someone’s head blown off. It’s so hardcore, the force that this stuff hits you with. The external horror was affecting my interior and that’s my motive – and motif – for Central Control. It’s about establishing a community and a mutual support system.’