The fourth room.

Last Saturday I went with my mum and my sister to look at ukuleles. I know next to nothing about the ukulele apart from holding a vague perception that it is (probably) an easy instrument to learn. And quite suitable for a clueless adult without any musical background. Over the next 24 hours I discover that the typical ukulele comes in three sizes: the soprano which is just a little small in size and sound; the tenor which handles nicely but sounds too much like a small guitar; and the concert uke which, sitting between the soprano and the tenor and is, well, just right. That Martin ukuleles make a nicer noise than the rest in their class even when they are made in Mexico. And that the E chord is really difficult to get to grips with..

“Umm, do you consider yourself normal?”

No.

But not because I’m learning to play the ukulele (you shameless schmuck). Because I have one of these..

The fourth room with sliding glass door. 

(and security keypad)

"Wow. Can I come in?"
No.

"Well, don’t mind me if I do.."

This inner cave is organised.
“You know how the world can be divided into folders and scrunchers?”
Yes.
“Well, you are so totally a folder. He-he. Yeah, I bet you even line up the squares..”
...
You are starting to annoy me.

Hidden treasure.

"Now this is a little kooky.."

This room has no windows.

With seven poles locked to the floor.

*cue creepy ukulele music*

You stare blankly at the history that sprawls beyond your insular little world. 
For you are not my old acquaintance, Bruce Lee..

..But some doppelganger with teleporting powers!

Villain! You are here to play with my bicycles and, possibly, take over the world! 

KA-POW!

Let’s see you teleport out of this! 

BAM!

The door closes. Your cries for help cannot be heard.

Play all you want in the rest of the house.

But don’t ever mess in the fourth room.