The hallway. From the outside, an ordinary house. A great house, true. Four-hundred-and-eighty-three rooms, each with its own marble wash basin and douche (bidet, as it's known). But inside, and the positions are reversed. A human failing, some say a disease. But a disease that Sir Francis Dashwood knew and used well. Upstairs, inside, and a revelation. It's a discotheque! No no, err... there are paintings, real... and look here! A rare seventeenth century masterpiece. And if I can scrape a little of it off, beneath I can find hidden. A fourteenth century under-piece. Made entirely of tiny pieces of eggshell, this lurid work has caused controversy in the world of embroidery and anthropolodgeky... No, I'll say it again: anthro...polo...logy. Erm, quite possibly make an anthropol... No, I mean an apolodge... for... It has enthralled distinguished professors, and in layman's language is blinking well baffling. But to be more obtusely: buggered if I know. Yes, buggered if I know. And that's all we've gleaned so far from experts in fourteenth century painting, renaissance greengrocers and recently revived members of the public. Buggered if I know.