It’s an ‘orrible feeling, I’m sure you’ll agree
You must have felt like it – it can’t just be me
I’m not one to grumble, well, not as a rule
I’m generally reckoned to be kinda cool
But some things, they just get my dander excited
My hackles aroused and my passion ignited
It’s a serious business – you don’t know the half
So I’ll tell you about it, but don’t nobody laugh!

It started in August, or just thereabout
The country was held in the grip of a "drought"
It had rained quite a lot, as if you could forget
And me mother-in-law’s cellar, it lets in the wet
It seeps through the bricks, and I’m afraid there is nowt
You can do except constantly pump it back out
But there’s a rule about pumps, it might strike you as funny ...
Why is it they never break down when it’s sunny?

Still, mechanical objects for me hold no fear
It ain’t rocket science we’re dealing with here
It could be a valve, or more likely a switch
There’s not too many options – but one little hitch
If you haven’t yet spotted the problem, you oughta
‘Cos this pump is stuck under three foot of water
The repair might be blindingly simple and yet
It ain’t easy to fix it without getting wet.

Like a dutiful son-in-law, out there I goes
I’m armed with me tool box and great lengths of hose
I’m togged up in overalls, wellies and gloves
I’ve got tools that’ll pull things and tools that’ll shove

The next bit’s less dramatic than you might be hoping
Because with the aid of a stick, and a hook, and some groping
I located the pump and (I ain’t stupid you see)
Instead of going to it, I brought it up to me
I track down the problem with remarkable ease
The fix should be simple with my expertise
The float switch was sticking - the answer I felt
Was a ruddy big hammer, and a ruddy great welt.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, and I’m sorry
‘Cause a major disaster would be a good story
But the fact is, my subtle approach did the trick
Well, that and the help of a jolly good kick
The pump started throbbing, the water receded
But just as I started to think I’d succeeded
I started to get that odd feeling – you know 
The one that I spoke of a short while ago

So absorbed had I been in the flood situation
I failed to acknowledge a creeping sensation
But something was wrong, I could feel it because
My right sock was dryer than the other one was
I stepped out of the water and climbed up the stairs
I examined the problem to see what was there
I went and found Glyn (that's my wife) and her mum watching telly
And said “Look here, I’ve just found a hole in my welly.”

If I expected my wife to share in my dismay
I’d have been disappointed – all she had to say
Was “There, there” (you know, sometimes she sounds like a madam)
“Boots don’t last forever – how long have you had ‘em?”
“About twenty years” I said, after some thought
“But that’s not the point, ‘cause the wellies I bought
Were the top of the range – not at all like the rest
In utility clothing terms, clearly the best.
They’ve got a lovely red lining, they’re really refined
They feel kinda sensuous, if you’re that way inclined.
In short, my dear, this is no ordinary boot –
In the Wellington world it’s a Saville Row suit!”

When the shock wore off I became somewhat reflective
I began to see things in their proper perspective
It’s true to say every old boot has its day
But I still couldn’t bear just to chuck them away
They sit by the back door, and they look really nice
When visitors spot them I’m sure they look twice
But the time will arrive, and it’s quite soon I know
When, despite my attachment, I’ll have to let go
But I’m still convinced there is some life in them yet
So I’ll stick them on E-bay and see what I get
I won’t try to pretend that they’re perfectly sound
I’ll give an honest assessment and say what I’ve found
They are lovely and comfy, and well worth the money ...
So long as they only come out when it’s sunny.