The day we moved the hot water tank
Marked the start of the week that we all stank
The one that nearly broke the bank
On the day we moved the hot water tank

The taps ran dry but we were knee high
In that watery stuff as my tears did gush,  
adding to the problem as I cried
Take That said my husband, but they were no good
nothing we tried could hold back The Flood

Water, water all around but none that we could drink
The days went by, no more did I cry, but definitely started to stink
The animals came in two by two with no semblance of an ark
At least there was a water-bed and space for a boat to park
(Or should that be moor?
I’m no longer sure).

It wasn’t long 'til we were Sailing, stormy waters, no Rod in sight
What we needed was a plumber, to aid us in our plight
And perhaps a marriage counsellor, trained in disasters of DIY
In a cosy office far from here, a place that was warm and dry

But for now we’d settle for a nice hot shower, and maybe a cup of tea
Will the God of licensed tradesman, kindly hear our plea?
We repent, please forgive, we won’t try again, deliver us from this mess
Next time we’ll check-a trader, find an expert who know best.

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This poem started writing itself in my head on a dog walk a few months ago. I never published it because it didn’t seem to fit with the usual themes of my blog, but I came across it again today and thought, why not?

It’s also a good example of how real life can inspire creativity, but ideas take on a life of their own. My husband (a very skilled and competent DIY’er) did move our hot water tank, but it all went rather swimmingly.

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