From outside, an ordinary house. A great house, true - four hundred and eighty
three rooms, each one with its own marble wash basin and douche, bidet as it
may. But inside, and the positions are reversed. A human failing, some say a
disease, but a disease that Sir Francis Dashwood knew, and knew it well.
Upstairs, inside and a revelation. It's a discotheque. No, no, uh. 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
Made entirely of eggshells, this lurid work has caused controversy in the world
of embroidery and anthropologicky. No, I'll say it again, anthropolology. Umm.
no quite possibly make an anthropol, no, uh, I mean an apolog.ph. It has
enthralled distinguished professors, and in layman's language is "blinking well
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."
Vivian Stanshall, about three o'clock in the morning, Oxfordshire, 1973,