I live in an old Victorian house
In the heart of Dublin Four.
It was built in the year of Her Majesty’s reign,
Eighteen fifty-four.

With granite steps and railings of iron
It’s a pleasant sight to behold.
The problem is, for owners like me,
The bloody thing is so old.

It’s the sort of building they love to view
And write about at length
In that paper of record, The Irish Times
Property Supplement.

Its venerable age and desirable features
Fills them with elation.
And needless to say it passes the test
Of location, location, location.

My plasterwork mouldings and decorative tiles
Have been featured in ‘Homes and Interiors’,
And when Senator Norris saw my dado rail,
He admitted that his was inferior.

Of course, it’s a listed building now,
And that’s the way it should be.
So the draughty old timber sash windows must stay,
And don’t mention P.V.C.

The gable is leaning, the slates are askew,
The chimney stack looks set to tumble.
But it’s part of our cultural heritage now
So we’re not allowed to grumble.

But just you try screwing a hook for a shelf,
Or inserting a rawl plug quite small,
And you’ll soon find you’re covered in crumbling plaster
With a massive great hole in the wall.

And as for repairing a cracked piece of gutter–
Cast iron, and weighing a ton–
I have to conserve the original section,
And Wavin I must shun.

My fine marble mantelpiece has to be seen,
And my ornate fireplace and fender.
But the draft down the chimney would give you blue knees
And chilblains around your suspenders.

You can see your face in my letterbox lid
And my knobs and knockers all brass.
But the time I must spend with the polishing cloth
Just gives me a pain in the arse.

My old kitchen range is the pride of the terrace,
Its black-leaded top is impressive.
But just to cook dinner or even make tea
I end up with a fuel bill that’s massive.

But I do love my fine old Victorian home
With its gracious proportions and style.
And although I may crib when my house shows its age,
I intend to remain there a while.

So I’ll sing you a new Victorian song
In twenty-first century style,
And I’ll celebrate gladly being able to live
In my old Victorian pile.