Much Malarkey Manor

Since discovering that Tybalt the (poor as a Church mouse) Cat is in fact, Charles Dickens the (hugely wealthy) Writer, he and I have come to a mutually agreeable arrangement. Basically, he will pay a huge amount of rent in return for me opening the cupboard that contains his cat food and continuing to feed him on a regular basis. I did lose one of the bouts of arm wrestling on which the majority of our negotiations was based which unfortunately means I will also still be responsible for cleaning out the litter tray, but it's a tiny price to pay for what I consider to be a win-win situation for myself.

Our improved financial situation has meant that we have been able to sell up our three bed semi with ground floor extension and purchase a property I've been after for a long time now - the gloriously atmospheric and ever-so-slightly pretentious Much Malarkey Manor. Situated in rolling countryside just outside the village of Much Malarkey, it has been on the market for a couple of years now, following an incident that was reported in the local newspaper as 'suspicious' and 'ghastly'.

'Doesn't it bother you that this place has a history of strange and peculiar happenings?' asks Andy as we look around. I am already choosing wall paper for the day salon, so no, it doesn't.
'You know that the local rag is prone to exaggeration about these things. It's media hype,' I say. 'This is a great place. We can do great things here.'
'I wonder why it's so cheap,' says Andy, for even taking into account the rumours, it's still very very much within the budget of our new-found wealth.
Behind us, the estate agent coughs. 'Well,' he says,' the Manor does come with a number of sitting tenants.'
'Staff, you mean,' I say. I've finished decorating the day salon and am wondering if I can get away with putting 'Lady of the Manor' onto my business cards.
'Yes!' says the estate agent. 'That's right. Staff!' He says this a little too keenly. I think he has got a whiff of the snob factor that is emanating from me as I have visions of opening the local village fete in a very big hat.
'I thought so,' I say. Of course, we'll need staff. It's a big manor. Twelve bedrooms, four receptions, many bathrooms and enough acreage to keep a herd of cows. So excited am I that I voice this last thought out loud.
'Heard of cows?' repeats Andy. 'Of course I've heard of cows.'
I have to punch him several times before he stops laughing.
'You know what I mean,' I say. I wave the brochure of particulars at him .'Look, it's even got an undercroft. Somewhere to keep your home made wines.'
'Oh yes,' says Andy. 'That's jolly good.'
'So shall we buy it?' I ask. I already know the answer, the question is hypothetical but I think it only fair I give him a chance to have an opinion.
'Yes!' he says. 'And let's take the staff out for dinner shall we? A kind of 'get to know you' evening of fun and frolic.'
'Excellent idea,' I say. 'Where shall we take them?'
'Have we still got those vouchers for Pizza Express?'
'Yes,' I say. 'And they must be used up before the end of January.'
'Perfect,' says Andy. 'Pizza Express it is.' He turns to the estate agent. 'How many staff are there, exactly?'
The estate agent consults his clipboard. He looks like he is trying not to laugh. 'Eight and a half,' he says.
'A half?' I ask. 'How can you have half a staff member? Are they part time?'
The estate agent shakes his head. 'Oh no, ma'am,' he says. 'Gasil lives in the Manor. It's just that he's very...er...small. And not what you might call fully human. More of an extension of a human really. But he's a member of a union. He has asserted his rights to human status.'
'I see,' I say, but I don't really. 'Oh well, eight and a half it is for Pizza Express then. Will you extend the invitation my good man?'
'Of course,' says the estate agent. 'Just as soon as you sign on this dotted line.'