SO Dad, what did you do during the pour?

Well son, The Great Pour took everybody by surprise. Although, having said that, we sort of knew it was coming. Michael Fish had been negotiating right up until the last moment.

When he produced that scrap of paper and announced there would be sun in our time, some folks breathed a sigh of relief. But many of us could already see the storm clouds looming on the horizon. People carried on believing it would be all right up to the last moment when the pour broke out.

I'll never forget that day. I was with your mother, enjoying a pint of Flowers and scampi and chips in the lounge of the Camp Inn at Grimley.

Everyone knew the river was rising but there wasn't so much as a cloud to be seen. They called this period the Phoney Pour. In any event, most people said it would be over by Christmas..

Yes, but Dad, what did you actually do?

Humph. Well, to tell you the truth son, not a lot. But I do remember whingeing all the time.

Funny lot, the British. We're a nation that has, for centuries, refused to cower under the heel of the foreign invader, whose people have always preferred to die on their feet rather than live on their knees.

Yet there is an enemy that defeats us time after time, a foe which sends us scurrying to hide under the covers with clockwork regularity. You know what I'm talking about. Yes. The recent inclement weather.

The leader column on the page opposite has already hinted that perhaps the teachers did not set much of an example. I'd go further than that and say shame on them.

What a disgraceful exhibition in front of the young and impressionable. The message seemed to be that if at first you don't succeed, then give up. Some schools to their eternal credit - refused to immediately cave in, but a vast number temporarily threw in the towel as soon as the waters rose.

To close schools en masse in areas that could not possibly have been affected by the rising waters was an act of pathetic capitulation. In the real world of industry and public services, such an act would not be contemplated for one moment.

The thought would never occur. For in this real world, inhabited by the majority, life still has to go on. People know they have an obligation to do everything possible to reach their place of employment.

It might have meant rising an hour earlier. Some carried spare clothing and footwear in a rucksack, packed next to the sarnies and flask, as they prepared to wade through the water enveloping Worcester's New Road.

Colleagues with cars went out of their way to pick up workmates. Bosses inquired whether individuals had a problem reaching work and offered help in making arrangements with transport, or whatever.

The fact is that most people in the private and public sectors struggled in. Lame excuses about living too far away would certainly have cut no ice in my own industry.

Sorry readers, there will be no Evening News today because the beastly water has blocked the road. Eh? As if.

But while some teachers were moving into reverse gear quicker than one of Mussolini's tank drivers, the Blame Culture was flourishing rather nicely in other parts of the city after raw sewage had appeared in gardens. Irate householders - though not all were screaming at Severn Trent to do something and quickly.

Yes, but what exactly? Was it Severn Trent's fault that the heavens had discharged billions of gallons of water and the sewers had gone into blow-back mode? Were they to blame for the unpleasant items that had started to appear?

I fully realise that there may have been faults with the drains before the crisis began to bite. And being flooded out must have been an appalling experience. But, given the circumstances, Severn Trent did all it could. The company indicated it would act as soon as the waters receded. Meanwhile, halfwits were jet-skiing on Pitchcroft and a moron as thick as the plank on which he was standing disappeared for a time as he sailboarded the Avon. A couple of teenagers nearly ended up the creek without a paddle on the Severn.

End result? The valuable time of our over-stretched and over-worked emergency services was wasted.

Others were just content to squander the squaddies' time being carried to and fro across New Road on non-essential journeys. Either end of New Road, spectators gawped at the rising wet stuff and generally hindered matters. We're not exactly talking Bulldog Breed here. Poodles in the puddles, perhaps.

Elsewhere, veterans who have long experience of Sabrina's excesses were stoically taking it on the chin. The admirable Admiral Jim Wainwright, landlord of the Camp Inn, battled on in his boat until the situation became impossible and only then conceded defeat.

A couple of plucky firemen were rewarded with a smacker from a German student whom they rescued after she was stranded at the Severn View Hotel. Postmen, milkmen and others on the early shift used all manner of ingenuity and pluck to ensure the task was completed.

The deluge brought out the best and the worst in people. Those who shrugged shoulders and made the most of their particular crisis and others who cast around looking for someone or something to blame...

Dad, do you think there will ever be another pour? Will the great struggle of the year 2000 ever be repeated?

Well son, put it like this. A future pour will be different, fought in a totally different way. Indeed, I've heard some say that the next big one will involve hail. Or even the ultimate deterrent, snow.

Let's just hope and pray that this was the pour to end pours. Amen to that.

The deluge brought out the best and the worst in people.