A single wing-back chair resides adjacent to the grand fireplace.
On the mantlepiece is a ship in a bottle. The rest of the
room is dominated by row-upon-row, shelf-upon-shelf of books.
You take a closer look and realise
that there are tiny people moving about on the deck and in the
rigging. One has been tied to the main mast and is screaming while
being flogged with the cat and judging by the
barely audible meows, the cats not liking it much either.
The ship is called The Soused Porpoise; the figurehead
is an oak sculpture of a dolphin vomiting into a partly-eaten
pitta bread. You resist the urge to mutter Ahoy there, me
hearties because that would be silly.