The hallway.
  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 underpiece.
  
  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 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."