The Gasman Cometh

The Bar-Steward Sons of Val DoonicanThe Bar-Steward… 

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The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican

The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican are an English comedy folk and parody band from Barnsley, South Yorkshire. Formed in 2006, they claim to be the hardest working comedy band in the UK, having played over 1100 shows throughout the UK. They are best known on the UK's festival scene, having played at major festivals including Glastonbury Festival, Cambridge Folk Festival, Beautiful Days, Bearded Theory, Rebellion Festival, Wychwood Festival, Kate Rusby's Underneath The Stars Festival, Towersey Festival, Wickham Festival and to an audience of 20,000 at Fairport's Cropredy Convention in August 2018, for their 900th show. Playing mainly acoustic folk instruments, they take popular songs and replace the lyrics with their own comedy reworkings, often on themes com… more »

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Well not that long ago 
I can still remember feeling cold, cross and hostile 
And if I'd been a wiser man 
I'd have opted for their 4-Star Plan 
And maybe I'd be cozy for a while 

But Christmas Eve it made me shiver 
Each room was icy like a blizzard 
Rang the British Gas Man 
Who turned up with his gas van 
It cost 100 quid for him to peer inside 
To merely shake his head, and turn and sigh 
There was nowt he could do and I was mortified 
The day me boiler died 

I cried when me boiler had died 
It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside 
And the Gas Man couldn't fix it, only offer advice 
"I'd condemn that knackered boiler outright" 
Before he disappeared off into the night

Sat indoors in hat and gloves 
While contemplating where to shove 
The expansion vessel manifold 
I'd lost my faith in British Gas 
He could shove me boiler up his ass 
Me turkey it had goose pimples it was that cold

Well, at the time, it seemed too posh 
But I wish I'd bought that Worcester Bosch 
Cos they had the best reviews 
And now me house was like an igloo 
Well it was safe to say I had come unstuck 
My boiler would have to be chucked 
Into a skip, cos it was... brok 
The day me boiler died 

And I were freezin'
Yes, I cried cos me boiler had died 
It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside 
And I was searching for the answers that they couldn't provide 
I would have to let me tank-tops drip-dry 
Have to let me tank-tops drip-dry 

Now, on Christmas Day I was on the phone 
To British Gas to rant and moan 
Their engineer didn't call at noon 
It felt like winter in Aberdeen 
And I shivered while venting me spleen 
To an automated voice and Coldplay tunes 

Well I sat in throughout Boxing Day 
And still no Gas Man came my way 
They seemed quite unconcerned 
And me calls were not returned 
And as our house went back to the Stone Age 
I paced up and down, in fits of rage 
Like a Yorkshire Gordon Ramsey in a cage 
The day me boiler died 

And I were fumin'
Yes, I cried cos me boiler had died 
It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside 
Said they had ordered parts, but then they never arrived 
And I was pigged-off, cold and dissatisfied 
Pigged-off, cold and dissatisfied 

Well me defeated heater didn't fear the reaper 
The house it was cold, just like my demeanor 
Eight degrees and falling fast 
My mood was foul, I had not bathed 
Or washed my hair for several days 
But the Gas Man didn't come... no he couldn't be arsed 

So I had to wash, cold, in the sink 
Me hands were blue, me crinklies, pink 
And me feet they stunk like hell 
As did other parts as well! 
And without that vital pilot light 
Well, there was not a chance it would ignite 
Me arse it froze for three more nights 
After me boiler died 

It was Baltic
I cried cos me boiler had died 
It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside 
I was scared about the leaking of carbon monoxide 
So opened all me windows up wide 
And only then did the Gas Man arrive

The boiler man came on New Year's Day 
And he took that sodding thing away 
And I was left with head in hands 
I went down to the plumbing store 
And underneath my breath I swore 
And the man there said "This one... it costs four grand" 

And in my head, my wallet screamed 
I'd lost my shit, or so it seemed 
But not a word was spoken 
Cos the old one was still broken 
Since Christmas Day I'd watched the clock 
And had to boil a kettle to wash 
But I finally got that Worcester Bosch 
After, me old boiler died 

And I were chuffin' livid 
I cried when me boiler had died 
It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside 
And I should have called a priest to have that thing exorcised 
But holy water wasn't supplied 
Holy water wasn't supplied 

And I'd been shiverin'
I know why, me wretched boiler had died 
Unlike me new one, which can do one, cos the new one's not shite 
Efficient like ze Germans, who leave towels by poolsides 
But mine was British and was badly designed

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