London was wearing its best clothes today: just cloaked in a fine layer of drizzle. 30 participants arrived, perambulated the premises and converged on their first Academy encounter. Too much information to take in at first glance, too many names to be checked. A good moment, therefore, to get some fresh air and see where we’re at. As they say down south, get on the bus. Mission: musical mystery tour.

The troupe set off on the a classic red Routemaster doubledecker, to take in a series of musical sights – like the sites of Ministry of Sound Shoom, which apart from what the dreadful tabloids say these days, started out sans liquor license, selling only water. Tour guide Chris Sullivan courtesy of Blue Rondo A La Turk and many other credentials who spent a fair amount of time at Shoom, credits "the wonders of modern medicine" for his current state of sanity.

Now, of course, MoS sells millions of CDs, as our other tour guide, Deal Real founder and comedian Doc Brown commented "if you're into that sort of thing". Crisps were passed around as we drove past the Institute of Contemporary Arts, before driving down The Mall in a not-too-legit way, as we learned when the bus was pulled over by her metro’s finest.

Actually, we wondered if the policeman's appearance was part of the tour. Perhaps at some point over the next weeks, we'll see the same guy again, dressed as the Queen. (Or so Many promised.)

Caught in the Arsenal at Chelsea gridlock (results were not all too popular with our footie-fan contingent), we crawled towards King's Rd. King's is the strip that was not only home to Sex but also Ad-Hoc, Boy, and Granny Takes A Trip (kitting out Chrissie Hynde, '80s flat top singers and stack-heeled '70s rockers respectively). The Chelsea Drugstore on King's Road, a fave of the Stones, operated around the clock with girls in purple catsuits doing deliveries on motorcycles at the end of the ‘60s: which could be quite a nice surprise if you ordered Dominoes (or hair tonic).

A much needed break at the Tabernacle later. London's trusty rain increased velocity and windows were fogged up, as we passed the Notting Hill Arts Club. Doc reminisced about seeing Lily Allen play there some years ago with Mark Ronson, when he told him she couldn't sing for toffee, though he may have been proved wrong.

Back to the HQ at Tooley St, to fuel up on yorkshire pudding, beef with horseradish and roast veg. Nothing like some pud to set the day straight, as the second issue of our Daily Note (the free music newspaper distributed daily all over London) was put to bed.

Meanwhile on the second floor, members of the content team (including Jeff 'One-Two Punch' Mao, Max 'Nuclear Winter' Cole, Emma 'the Real first record' Warren and Todd 'Satan's last name' Burns) brainstormed probing questions to be asked of the participants in tomorrow's intro session. Googling 'catholic ice breaker questions' prompted a bout of hard-hitting philosophical conundrums worthy of Leonid Andreyev or Michael Herr, such as: "What local cuisine best describes your creative process, and why? Mushy peas, bangers and mash, jellied eels, or black pudding?"

Meanwhile, studio crew J-Wow (of Lisbon's Buraka Som Sistema), James Pants and Mala were haggling with equipment room gatekeeper Amade for chords, Junos and various noise-makers to set up in the eight bedroom-sized studios, and participants like Buggy Boy from Turkey and Teri Gender Bender jammed guitar, bass and drums in the recording room. It's only day one and already they're working the midnight shift. Because, to paraphrase Donna Summer, they need to, they need to right now.