GIVES HIM SHELTER: Bill Wyman in his London home built in the 1700s near the Thames. He uses the study to write. Daniella Zalcman for The Wall Street Journal
Bassist Bill Wyman, 77, was an original member of the Rolling Stones from 1962 to 1993 and currently leads Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings. He is author of the limited edition "Scrapbook" (Concert Live), a career-long collection of personal photos and reminiscences. He spoke with reporter Marc Myers.
The Chelsea section of London is important to me. I joined the Rolling Stones in December 1962 at the Weatherby Arms pub on King's Road, and I've lived in a series of flats in the area since 1980. Twenty years ago my wife and I bought the three-story, 16-room Chelsea house where we live now. When I'm home, I'm usually in my study.
Our house was built in the 1700s. In the 1800s, Dr. John Samuel Phene lived here—he persuaded London to plant trees in the streets all over the city to improve the air quality. My study was his study, so that feels good. From my house, I can go on walks along the River Thames and stroll over to the Chelsea Physic Garden where there are plants and trees from around the world. I'm a member there, so they let me photograph butterflies and pick mulberries off the trees and eat them.
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WILD HORSES: Bill Wyman, far right, with Rolling Stones bandmates Charlie Watts, Mick Taylor, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards in a 1960s photo. Dezo Hoffmann/Rex USA/Everett Collection
Just walking into my study puts me in a frame of mind to bounce right into everything I have to do. It's where I think, read and work on a range of projects. For example, I'm now writing a history of my country home—a Tudor manor with a moat. It's in East Anglia—a two-hour drive from London—and dates back to the 1480s.
In Chelsea, my study is on the ground floor and relatively small—about 13 feet square with 11-foot-high ceilings. It's lighted by a series of ceiling spotlights. Two walls are taken up by floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves with closed cabinets at the base. I work on a computer at a large modern desk that looks out through the study's two tall windows.
My favorite color is burgundy, which was the color of my grammar-school football team. All of the furniture in the study is burgundy—including my upright leather chair and a chaise longue sofa from the 1860s. The wallpaper is a pink burgundy and we had the walls around the bookcases painted the same color. Even the curtains are burgundy and beige. It's a warm, cozy color.
Some of Mr. Wyman's Rupert Annuals. Daniella Zalcman for The Wall Street Journal

I keep lots of fun things in here. On my mantelpiece and windowsills are numerous photos of my mom and dad, my wife and three daughters, and my son. On the walls I have a photo of Marc Chagall and his wife that he signed for me and a drawing of Winston Churchill by actor Joe Sirola. I also have a painting of my favorite TV detective—Peter Falk as "Columbo." I keep an acoustic Martin guitar in the corner to mess with when writing songs. I have a little digital studio downstairs, where I'm working on a new album of original material.
I also have two early Rupert Bear dolls. At my country house I have nearly an entire set of Rupert Annuals. They're children's books that have been published here every year since 1936—the year I was born. They feature illustrations of Rupert the Bear and his animal friends going off on fabulous adventures. When I was young, my family never had enough money for Christmas presents except a single Rupert Annual for all five of us to share.
I'm curious about virtually everything, so my Chelsea shelves are lined with books covering a variety of subjects—from histories of London to books on Atlantis and ancient cultures. My music shelf has books on early blues, country music, gospel and a history of jazz from the 1930s. I like to know how things work and how they became that way.
I never close the door. Gizmo, my favorite dog—a papillon—likes to come in and climb onto my lap no matter what I'm doing or where I'm sitting. Despite the open door, parties never extend to this room. I couldn't bear a spilled glass of red wine or a ring on the wood furniture or shelves.
But in the quiet confines of my Chelsea study, there's always the risk of overthinking things or feeling a bit boring—at least my daughters sometimes think I am. Recently I won the Gold Badge Award that's given out by the British Academy of Songwriters, Composers and Authors. When I came home with it, I told my youngest daughter—15-year-old Matilda—about the event. She listened intently. But Jessy—my middle daughter who's 17—didn't seem so interested.
Later, after dwelling on her reaction in my study, I told Jessy that I had only wanted to share the experience with her. She said, "Daddy, you don't have to win things for me to be proud of you." Wow, just when you think your kids have let you down, they haven't at all, have they?