For sale: A snoop around the flat where Jamie Oliver made his name

Blimey! I've come a long way since then. Well, more of a circle really. Essex, Shoreditch and back to Essex. "Oi, you! Naked!" they used to shout at me back then, when me and the missus (sorry, the Lovely Jules) used to live in that flat.

Scene of my first-ever television series, it was. That was the start of it all. Since then, there have been loads more cracking series and a ton of bestselling books. I suppose I have come in for quite a bit of stick – I mean, being a bit scruffy and coming from Essex – but I don't mind. I quite enjoy it. After all, who's counting the millions now?

Which brings me back to my point. Remember my old gaff in Chequer Road? Where I used to slide down the bannisters on my way out? Jump on the old Vespa and scoot off to see my old mate Gennaro for a few mushrooms to cook for 20 of my closest friends that night? Gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "TV dinner", that did. Pukka or what?

And just like I've changed in the past 10 years (bit more sophisticated these days, driving a Bentley, growing my own veg and all), so has that flat. Had a whole new floor added, in fact. Back in the day, I grew herbs in a window box; now there's five plasma-TV screens, a sauna and a whole new kitchen. You wouldn't recognise the place now.

It's been revamped and extended. There's a waterproof screen in the spa bathroom, fibre-optic mood lighting and a gym – and it's only five minutes from my restaurant Fifteen. Lovely jubbly!

I rang the old estate agent to see what they had to say. Spoke to the lovely Zoe. Turns out they want two million quid for it! And it's only got two bedrooms. She told me the current owners thought my urban kitchen was a bit poxy, so they did it up. Reckon they might even get more than two mill for it, thanks to the fact that I used to live there. Should be one of those blue plaques on the wall, if you ask me.