The struggles of being British, rich, and self-absorbed can be rather difficult to manage. Do you serve pâté or caviar? Which high-end brandy should be always on-hand and in which crystal decanter? What to do when the regular hired help doesn’t show up for your fabulous dinner party, and how to handle the replacement houseboy who really doesn’t look that well and has a predilection for human brains? A zombie would normally be quite the bother, but there are so many more pressing concerns, like how to your infidelity from your possibly also cheating spouse? Is it possible to be so self-absorbed that you don’t even realize that there’s a zombie among you, and who will be eaten first?