I've been sort of thinking for some time about relocating, so it's time to investigate the options in more detail. This place looks pretty good. I'll have to liquidate a few assets to raise the necessary £61 million for the show apartment, plus I'll need to put a bit aside to acquire and maintain the trophy wife, but it's an avenue worth pursuing in more detail, isn't it?
Except, I wonder what it'll actually be like? Imagine that the trophy wife and I have just been eased out of bed by the 24 hour room service, and are having a conversation about what to do today.
Me (brightly): So - breakfast on the veranda or the balcony?
TW (yawning): Same old views. Hyde Park or Knightsbridge. I've seen Hyde Park. And Knightsbridge.
Me: I know. A movie. In our own cinema. We don't even have to go out, and the staff will carry us in there.
TW: We've seen all the movies. They're crap.
Me: Well. Um. You could cook us lunch. In the family kitchen. Or pretend to.
TW (irritated): Why would I want to do that?
Me: Because ... (unable to answer this.) How about a swim?
TW: Tim, that pool's a shared facility, FFS. We'd have to mix with the hoi polloi from those other eighty-five cheap flats downstairs. They smell.
Me: You could check the finish on the hand-stitched leather panelling in the hall. Again.
TW: I'd rather take a box cutter to it. Honey, I'm bored!
I ponder for a bit while she checks her nails.
Me: We could go for a walk, I suppose.
TW: Honey, you know I hate walking.
On second thoughts, perhaps not.