This house is too fancy for me, OBVIOUSLY. If I so much as walked in the door I'd probably just pee in my pants or start drooling on myself. I have a weird fight-or-flight response to ancient stone manses, a mixture of claustrophobia and Edgar Allan Poe. They make me twitchy and anxious. Also I have no idea what people do in houses like this, how they pass the time, if they stand around licking gold foil off the wallpaper or teaching skinny wolfhounds stupid tricks, like how to walk on their hind legs or balance teacups on their noggins. Actually a coffee table that's just a live wolfhound with a pint of beer on its head would be pretty amazing to see. (Jk, friends of dogs/PETA.)
But who knows, maybe the people who live in these homes are very normal. Maybe they listen to "Gord's Gold" on the hi-fi and invite their friends over to play Scattergories. Maybe one person is assigned to bring the Cheetos and guacamole, just like any old party attended by any old body, and when the party's over they all just drive home to Monaco or wherever. But that's irrelevant. All I really want to do here is stand beneath one of those trees at the hour of dusk and gaze up at the lights switching on, one by one, room by room and floor by floor.