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he first thing I see

when I walk into Toya

Delazy’s east London

flat is a spectacular set of tits.

They are prominently displayed

and sculpted from plaster of Par-

is. Toya has her back to me and

doesn’t realise what I’ve spotted.

“Welcome to my humble abode,”

she says warmly, arms outstretched.

I respond by pointing at the mam-

mary-shaped mould and demanding,

“Whose are those?” She spins round,

visibly squirms and admits, “My

girlfriend made a cast of my boobs.

They’re huge!” I nod in agreement.

They are, indeed, a pretty impres-

sive pair. “Hey, I had my period,” she

protests, and we both crease up.

Once we’ve recovered from all

the bosom-related hilarity, she leads

me down a narrow staircase to her

studio, announcing, “This is the

secret lair where the magic happens”.

The spacious basement is kitted out

with all sorts of complicated-looking

recording equipment. There’s the

lingering scent of incense, a rotating

light projector and a framed print of

Pink Floyd’s iconic Back Catalogue

album cover. If you haven’t seen it,

just imagine a group of naked ladies.

“To inspire your creative process?” I

grin. “Obviously,” Toya replies, without

skipping a beat. “Nothing better than

the beautiful female physique.” >>>

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COVER STORY | TOYA DELAZY