It was a lovely lesson plan,

as lesson plans do go.

A trip to Nant-Cwm-Ceffyll

To see the waters flow.

The children were all well prepared

With wellies and a ruler

And warnings to wear strong sunscreen

And hats to keep them cooler.

But when we got to river bank,

we're all quite mortified,

water------there was none to see,

leaving teacher horrified.

No, not a drop was there to see,

like Sahara's raging sand.

The school trip lay in tatters

wrecked by climates fickle hand.

Memories of films I'd seen

then quickly filled my brain,

of Lawrence in his flowing robes

On Arabia's dusty plain.

Of Sean bean in the S.A.S.

in Sadham's desert battle

and episodes of Bon-an-za,

with dehydrated cattle.

Then came a voice from far away

And from my dreams I wake.

A single word that causes fear

To make most teachers shake:- 'SIR!!!!'

'I know where the water's gone,

where liquid can be found.

I can provide a reason

for this parched and arid ground.'

'See, Beany's nicked the water Sir,

made a most ma-hus-ive dam.

A junior home-made reservoir

built with clodges and a pram.'

'Yes, Beany's forged a mighty lake,

a creative little scheme,

with mortar and a pile of blocks

a quarter-mile upstream.'

So, we were left anhydrous

deep in that juiceless brook

with naught at all to measure

or re-cord in a book.

Now teacher, heed my warning

As you read this anecdote.

Murphy's Law demands respect.

Write a Plan-B lesson note.