There isn't much a girl can do to modernise Manderley.

I really think I cannot do a lot at all.

I had the servants paint the West Wing olive and amber-y.

And sold the garden on to build a shopping mall.

.

I set a television box within the morning room,

And fitted all the upstairs with electric lights,

And dug a pool to sit inside the library,

And put up posters focusing on women's rights,

.

And auctioned off the heirlooms from the downstairs floor,

And bought a Kindle with the money from the books,

And traded in the Bentley for a limousine,

And splashed out on a microwave, and sacked the cooks...

.

But really, what can one girl do to modernise Manderley?

It isn't one for drastic change; I know that well.

I got myself a job and now am earning a salary,

And turned the beach house into a two-bed hotel,

.

And gave up cigarettes in lieu of herbal tea,

And made my dashing husband shave his upper lip,

And taught myself to speak in questions all the time,

And bought a pair of denim trousers with a zip,

.

And laid some crazy paving down along the drive,

And put some picnic tables underneath the trees,

And gave old Frith his own electric ice-cream van,

And started up a business keeping honeybees...

.

But, honestly, it's horrid, trying to modernise Manderley.

Anyone would find the effort challenging.

Why, just the other day, I noticed, in the long gallery,

Mrs Danvers scowling hard and muttering.

.

Sometimes I am tempted just to stop the whole thing and go,

Nothing changes overmuch around about.

Ben, I've found a place for at a nursing home,

He'll just adore the faculty without a doubt,

.

And all the maids have gone to university,

To get themselves a future and a good career.

I've stuck some solar panels to the Tudor roof,

To do my bit in clearing up the atmosphere...

.

But really, nothing seems to change at Manderley,

I see Rebecca's footsteps everywhere I go.

There's nothing really modern here at Manderley.

There's nothing new about the place, and I should know.