First, allow me to introduce myself.  I am the Liar, and this marvellous edifice you are standing in, belongs to myself and my wife, the Liatrix.  What's that?  Real names?  They are real - you address us by those, and we shall answer, how much more real do you want, oik?

 As we're standing outside the front door, I'd like to first draw your attention to that the tree on the left.  As you can see, it's some 96 feet tall, and  was a gift to my Great-Great Grandfather, Polonius Witchta Liar from the grateful Sultan of Brunei.  It appears that the Sultan had some small problem involving a Rolls Royce, two frogs and a gentleman's bet in the Mayberry club in London.  Great-great Grandfather was able to resolve the whole sordid affair with nothing more than his wits, and a conveniently parked 18 inch double barrelled recoiless howitzer, much to everyone's relief.  

If you'd all like to step indoors now, you'll notice that you are wiping your feet on a Van Gogh original.  Please don't trouble yourselves, Vincent can always knock up another one.  I'm sorry?  Suicide?  What a quaint notion, well, that's what he wanted the world to think.  Not at all, I'll explain later.  Perhaps over coffee, my dear?  

To the left of the saircase, you'll notice a door to the servants quarters, we'll avoid the tour of that tuppeny gin soaked horror today, it's nearly feeding time, and you look like people of taste.  No Sir, I insist.  Do not open that door.  They are well treated, if a little rowdy, and the rumours that you hear of local disappearances, are nothing more than that.  Let me, instead, draw your attention to the carving in the centre of the floor,  You'll notice the strong back of the figure holding up the earth, the great brutal forearms, the firm set of the thigh, the powerful whipcord like tendons of the neck, the taut Greek God's abdomen.  I'll give a thrupenny bit to any child here who can name the figure portrayed.  Speak up young man, let everyone hear.  That's right, Margaret Thatcher!

Let us, continue to the right, and pass through this door, into the Colouring -In Room.  I was never one for Art myself, but I find I am content when I can keep between the lines.  Notice the pair of marble arms by the window?  No Sir, they have nothing to do with the Venus De Milo.  They are a representation of those belonging to the last gentleman who reached over the ropes protecting my house from the public's sticky fingers.  Consider yourself warned. 

 We move on now to the Library, there will be a number of works here you're unfamiliar with, including an orginal copy of the Necronominicon, a gift to the family from the author.  We're also very proud of the carved lectern in the corner, one of Picasso's few pieces of artwork.  The only problem is, to use the bookstand properly, you really need to shred the volume.