The Fishwhacker Swindle?

If I were filthy, stinking rich, I wouldn’t squander my fortune on fast cars in St Tropez, opulent Alpine skiing jaunts or Malibu condos.

No.

I would buy a castle. A huge, crumbling castle somewhere in Scotland or Ireland or perhaps somewhere on the Continent such as Germany or Eastern Europe. And in this castle I would indulge my tastes for the Victorian, the Gothic, the mediaeval.

Much of the castle would be left in disrepair. There would be wings I never set foot in, for my future offspring to explore to their hearts’ delight, full of secret panels and trapdoors and dusty rooms containing nothing but a table and a mysterious lamp.

The castle would have an enormous entrance hall hung with paintings by Turner, Goya and the Pre-Raphaelites. The dining room would flaunt a huge oaken table at which my bride and I would partake of candle-lit suppers under the gaze of The Lady of Shalott.

The library would be soaked in books, leatherbound volumes whose spines I would be afraid to crack for fear of spilling the riches within. An attendant would hover silently to grant my wishes but disappear when I so required. With the finest brandy at my elbow I would pore over ancient grimoires for hours until the sputtering candles burned low.

My lady and I would live in the upper floors. The lower ones would be given over to the staff, who would be discreet and reticent when serving us but in return would be permitted Bacchanalian rampages in the castle’s depths during their spare time.

A room would be given over to mechanical contraptions of astonishing invention; another, to advanced chemistry facilities and experiments. A third, perhaps a long narrow hall, would contain stuffed creatures from the four corners of the earth, from the humblest shrew to the mightiest ursine predator.

Before the castle would plunge a valley forested with pine, through whose snow-drowned slopes wild beasts would lope and bay in the winter’s night.

Behind the castle would rise terrifying black mountains from whose summits at intervals massive sheets of ice would plummet and crash like frozen waterfalls.

Modern conveniences would be retained where necessary. There would be electric lighting, 21st century plumbing and wireless broadband internet access, as well as a home cinema which would feature regular screenings of The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari among numerous others.

Great parties we would throw in full mediaeval dress, with an abundance of meat and wine and live music provided by Jethro Tull.

My love and I would stand atop the castle’s ramparts in the fury of a summer’s storm, she in billowing chiffon and I in gleaming hat and tails, and I would play the violin until I woke the gods.