The first house that I bought was 8 Abercorn Close, in St John’s Wood, west London, in 1983, after Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? had been a hit.

I’d been living on the next road, in a flat owned by my friend Philip Sallon, and watched this row of mews houses being built from old structures. I thought I’d like to buy one, though I didn’t know how much money I had. It cost about £140,000.

Philip was one of those who would turn up at the flat whenever he felt like it, so it was great to have my own space. I spent hours moving things and putting up pictures. It wasn’t big, but it was cute. You opened the door and there was a staircase up to two bedrooms and an office space. Then downstairs was one big room and a galley kitchen.

It was a peaceful, proud place to start with. It had pea-green walls, a lovely vintage fireplace, a sound system, a nice sofa with a coffee-brown stripe and a beautiful framed poster from a kabuki artist called Tamasaburo, who used to be called the Boy George of Japan. It was more tasteful than some of the things I did in my next house. I got a bit rock’n’roll in Hampstead.

I liked the area. It was off the beaten track, a bit posh, and I knew people there. When I bought a lime-green Cortina off my brother for 100 quid, there was a boy-racer car outside this leafy mews - quite incongruous.

While I was in St John’s Wood, I got seriously addicted to heroin, and was there during the worst times of my life. It wasn’t all misery, though. The early days of Culture Club were fantastic. As a kid, I’d never gone further than Margate. So there was lots of discovery – travelling to exotic places, going to restaurants – and lots of shopping, for clothes, mostly. Some I didn’t even take out of the packet.

Things were good for three years or so. I was earnest about it at first: recording, touring, doing TV shows. I wouldn’t take drugs, didn’t really drink, went to bed early, wrote back to fans. And I was in love with Jon [Moss, the band’s drummer], so I had everything I wanted. Then it got impossible to do those things.

You suddenly have this fabulous life-style that, at first, you fit around your work commitments. Then it takes over and you fit in the music between parties. It was only when my tug-of-war relationship with Jon looked like it was really over that I got out of control.

By the end of 1986, the band was falling apart. I didn’t have anything to focus on, and I’m at my most sane when I’m gainfully employed. The weekends were like party central. When I wasn’t working, I’d go to clubs and bring people back. There was a lot of dressing-up, Polaroid-taking and cat-walking – and I felt obliged to share my good fortune with everyone. Philip, who I’ve known since I was 15, was protective and vehemently antidrugs. He would march round, lecture me and scream at the people with me.

The story broke about me being a drug addict when a photographer friend sold a story to the Daily Mirror after a photo session. I’d been taking drugs and he’d asked me to get him some – he’d set me up. Next morning, I had the press at my door. I put on Morning Has Broken, by Cat Stevens, and sat there crying, feeling betrayed. Then my brother, David, went on the news and said that I was killing myself. He was acting out of love, but I left him an abusive message, calling him a traitor.

I became a recluse. In the day, I was sleeping off the excesses of the night before, then I’d get up feeling like hell, take a hit and start again. My mum used to come up on the train, but I wouldn’t answer the door. I’m terribly ashamed that I put her through that, but I have a brilliant relationship with her now.

When somebody died of a heroin overdose in my other house, in Hampstead, that was the beginning of me getting clean. I wasn’t there at the time, but it was terrible. I was questioned by the police. His family tried to sue me. And I blamed myself. I do feel it was a consequence of the destructive energy that I created around me.

I lived in St John’s Wood until 1987, but it had become a sad place; I was glad to leave. I’d bought the house in Hampstead – which needed work done – while I was still there. Jon found it. I’d outgrown the mews house: I had too many costumes, too many wigs, too much stuff from travelling. I sold it for about £200,000. I haven’t been into the mews since, but I go past it. Philip lives in the same flat, so I sometimes go and play Scrabble with him.

Boy George’s new single, Yes We Can, is out on October 12. His UK tour starts on Wednesday; www.boygeorgelive.com

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