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.
