Almost everybody's got memories of someone living out their addiction. Be it the great aunt having her first glass of wine at 2 in the afternoon, a neighbour chain smoking on their balcony or more sinister things.

For me, it's my uncle's little, 3sqm toilet that represented his addiction best. As a child I always felt an ick visiting them as their only toilet was this little room with no windows, yellowed walls. Entering, an overwhelming smell of stale smoke would greet you. The toilet paper holder was mounted into the wall like a little shelf, part of the tile. On top, always a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, somewhere in the corner, a newspaper.