IT'S FICTION. IT'S FACT. IT'S FICT.
"Company... stand... down!" 
Reconstructing AP36's War of the Publisher's Office, like any historical investigation, has been hampered by contradictory recollections, confused time-lines, a lack of really first-class model makers and the sneaking suspicion it was probably for the most part incredibly dull.
The story is therefore presented as a drama-documentary, regularly switching to a thrilling, semi-fictionalised pre-scripted quasi-factual partly-researched dramatic form to maximise reader understanding of a complex and stupid issue, except for the bit about being stroppy, which happened like that exactly. Your rights are not affected, unlike ours, AS YOU WILL SEE.
(Now read on.)
AP examined the second floor, and lo, the mighty beings were pleased. Much space had they, yea, and, gloriously, windows. (Unpleasantly, the old woman's bedroom was notably sparse of glazing.) As is proper, they began bickering over the best spots.
A weekend then occurred.
Early the Monday morning, Stuart and Sal decided once more to examine their plots in a new-toy manner. They arrived on the still-vacant floor to find work proceeding apace on a new office for Steve The Publisher that stretched fully three-quarters the length of the floor. Say about a fifth of the total space. For Steve The Publisher. Leaving an awkward L-shape that, filled with seven people, seven people's equipment and seven people's effects left the seven people farcically slightly better off than before.
The rest of AP was alerted. Opinions were canvassed. Clearly, a publisher's office taking up a fifth of the floor was unacceptable. Steve The Publisher must reduce his office.
DRAMA-DOCUMENTARY MOMENT
(Scene: Steve The Publisher's absurdly gigantic office. Enter AP delegation.)
STEVE THE PUBLISHER: Dammit, I told you to move, and by God, you're going to move.
DELEGATION: No, by God. We won't, dammit, d'you hear?
STEVE THE PUBLISHER: Damn you by God.
DELEGATION: You're wrong and you know it. Reduce your damned office by God by Friday.
STEVE THE PUBLISHER: You have the temerity to dictate terms to me? (Hisses.) I'll see you all ruined first. Now get out!
(They leave. Outside, they are met by a tiny child.)
DELEGATION: We're sorry, Timmy, but now your mother won't be able to have her operation.
It was at this point that Jonathan Davies joined the magazine to find his team reshuffling the furniture in the old woman's bedroom and settling in for a siege.
(Scene: The old woman's bedroom. Clever lighting suggests a background of roaring flame silhouetting the gentleman editor.)
JONATHAN DAVIES: I solemnly swear never to rest until I have secured a generously spacious home for my team. No obstacle will delay me, and no influence deflect me from the path to victory.
AP: Hurrah! And Stuart didn't even have to address overcoming any natural conciliatoriness by pointing out the tangible dangers of acting like a big girl's blouse in the face of such an obviously infuriated group of people with a quiet talk in, for example, a rubble-strewn part of another building!
(Newspaper zooms out of screen. Headline reads, "OFFICIAL - IT'S BRINKMANSHIP!")
Impasse. But then! AP remembered the number of large offices scattered about the building currently unoccupied due to the sequestering of the pub. The boardroom, for example. They could move in there instead.
(Scene: Greg The Managing Director's absurdly gigantic office. Enter Steve The Publisher.)
GREG THE MANAGING DIRECTOR: Give them the boardroom to shut them up.
STEVE THE PUBLISHER: No. Because they're being stroppy.
AP were then summoned to Steve The Publisher's office and given the deadline "Go away and think for one or two hours then say yes. Or you'll all be fired."
Let's just see that again in slow motion.
AP were then summoned to Steve The Publisher's office and given the deadline "Go away and think for one or two hours then say yes. Or you'll all be fired."
"Respect my authority or be disciplined."
"Move into a new office, or I'll sack the entire magazine."
Whatever.
But in an exciting last-minute development like the splendid vital-evidence-bearing race to save Liam Neeson from the gallows by Kenneth Cranham at the end of the unfairly-dismissed Under Suspicion, a chum of AP's, Alison From Production, had turned up a copy of the Health and Safety at Work rules, which stated that each person in an office was legally entitled to one cubic foot of air circulating per foot of floor-space per second.
Outwitted by a law laid down in 1956, Steve The Publisher capitulated and demolished the extension. AP moved out of the old woman's bedroom secure in the knowledge they had done the right thing, Alison From Production was given three rousing cheers and AMIGA POWER and its staff were forever more labelled "difficult."
(Scene: The new AP Office. Sunlight streams in through the windows as the team luxuriate in the space afforded by law. Corks pop. Bangy-streamer things go bang and make streamers. Suddenly they all turn to look. Timmy's mother runs forward laughing, pulling off a hospital smock. Timmy follows, being carried by a judge, the elderly law-gent's wig amusingly atop his tiny child's flaxen locks. Timmy laughs. Judge laughs. All laugh then stop.)
STUART: Well! I'll 'office' they won't be trying that again!
(All laugh once more. Freeze-frame on them laughing. Credits roll to sound of laughter.)
IT'S FICTION. IT'S FACT. IT'S FICT.
"Company... stand... down!"