I've always wanted to post a photograph of a naked bloke in the bath.
So here it is.
Raymond died earlier this year, reclusive and super-rich.
So why does he grace this space?
It's nothing to do with him owning telephones or baths that look 'just so' in an age that chokes on boho cushions and the frou-frou interiors of decorators like Sera Hersham-Loftus.
But more of an unlikely link between being a porn baron, bathing in bubbles and the transformation of downtowns.
In a recent article in the Sunday Times magazine - and a really good one at last, not just four pages of graphics showing the course of climate change - Raymond's property company was said to own
an estimated 60 of Soho’s 87 acres
For those who can't do imperial, that's over thirty average-sized soccer pitches and almost 70% of the entertainment centre of London.
It throws in to stark relief anti-gentrifiers' obsession with the politics of displacing the poor, rather than the actualité of who owns what.
And suggests that gay life as a magnet to city development can happen on the back of corporations and linked to mega landlords, not just small-time, frontier-spirit entrepreneurs.
But enough of that.
I've just noticed the sponge and marbled soap behind Raymond in the picture.
Time to move on.