“That’s why I want people to stay outside the gate, because I’m a person as well as Jamiroquai, I’m Jay, Jason Kay and I’ve got my own privacy. I understand that some of that is to do with the public supporting you, but that’s still no excuse.” He looks perturbed. “And with what’s happened with Jill Dando, it’s so irresponsible.”He takes a tough line with anyone, fan or fanatic, who comes on to his territory. “I caught some lads come screeching up the drive here in a Mini the other day. I said `What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ and they said `Oh sorry, we just thought … ‘ `What, you thought it was a public fucking road? Even though there’s a great big sign that says private?’” Any potential trespassers should be feeling nervous about now. “I thought, if you hit my dog, or one of my cats, or one of the cars, I will kill you, with my bare hands .. They’re not real fans, they’re not real anything It’s like saying a hooligan is a proper football fan.

They’re not.” The sly grin is gone, replaced by grim determination.A quick tour of the house restores Jay’s good humour. “The woman who owned it before me had the most appalling taste I’ve ever seen,” he banters, dashing Challenge Anneka style from room to room, floor to floor He’s in the process of redecorating. There are “shag pads” for the band, should they want to sleep over, with richly coloured carpets and walls; a snooker room; a wood-panelled library and, as they say in the trade, beautifully appointed reception rooms. Jay has, I can report, more than 50 pairs of trainers, and a TV the size of a small car.

All, he freely admits, gifts.He’d like to do more charity work this year, especially for the homeless organisation Shelter, but as head of a “corporation” that employs over 30 people, “all needing to get paid, to convince them all to do something for nothing ain’t that easy”.Meanwhile Jay is developing a range of clothing with Boss and a deal with Levi’s, which all add to the coffers. The pleas to save the planet haven’t gone away: it’s just that worries about the bills have got more pressing – and the responsibilities that this slight 29-year-old has on his shoulders become apparent. “If this album flopped, I’d be in a worse situation than before I started. It’s all got to be paid for,” he says, surveying the acres, “and Monsieur Kay does actually have a mortgage.”"I want a number one album and single here and a top 10 album in America. That would be bloody lovely, anything above that is a bonus.” There are, he wearily points out, another four albums after this one to go before his contract with Sony is fulfilled. “God, I wish I’d signed for five.”Jay springs up, Tiggerish, to play with his dog. He can pretend to be put-upon, but knows that, really, life is sweet and the critics can go hang.