28th October. The Perfect Gift.

Fergus was at a bit of a loss as to a possible gift his father might appreciate for his 80th; a retired bastion of the farming community with no interests apart from endless comparisons of other peoples status by wealth.

"What about one of those farming yesteryear annuals?"

"He doesn't read. We were going to get him one of those hand-drawn caricatures, but he'd probably think we were just making fun of him. Then someone suggested a helicopter flight over the farm, but I don't know... Everybody's phoning us up asking what they can give him as a gift, he'll probably just end up with enough bottles of whisky to last him 'til he's dead."

An idea struck me that his dad, having heard something on the grapevine about the levels of ostentation up at 'G & J's' Baronial former care home, might appreciate a look around. Fergus's eyes lit up, and he said that a guided tour of the place would absolutely make the perfect gift, as his dad liked nothing better than overt displays of acquisitive power. "It'll give him something to talk about for months."
"Aye, I've been there. Aye I've seen the Bentleys, the Conservatory. Och! a helluva money! Helluva money, aye..."

All that remains now are the logistics of inveigling his dad into the guests at the coming firework display when 'G' lets off a few thousand £'s worth all at once. Thence to the acres of the red carpeted interior, the bespoke solid wood kitchen units, the multi-fauceted bathrooms with mosaic floors and the crystal chandeliers, no expense spared.