It's raining on the last week before Christmas.

This means that children with too many jumpy beans to sit still cannot work it off by tearing around the playground screaming and roaring at each other.
They try their best, by tearing around the school building, screaming and roaring at each other, but the inevitable happens - a bell peals, and they are told to go sit still in a dull, faceless room, and listen to the teacher. With no screaming, tearing or roaring.
Which is about as successful as you'd imagine it to be.

Should you be written up to serve a 'break duty' on a rainy day, it is your job to stand for twenty minutes in a wet corridor while 300 children in hoodies attempt to tear past you, screaming and roaring. Your mission, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to stop them, reprimand them, and force them to do the opposite of what they intend: sit quietly in a classroom.
Which leaves them after break with a huge excess of jumpy beans.

A bell peals, and they are told to go sit still in a dull, faceless room, and listen to the teacher. With no screaming, tearing or roaring.
Which, again, is about as successful as you'd imagine it to be.

On top of this, the building is 40 years beyond it's sell by date, and there is rain streaming into buckets heavily in all rooms with external walls. We are encouraged to tear down the strip light-fittings, use string to concoct a mini system of funnels that re-directs the torrent through the nearest window. Occasionally, this requires three strip lights, and four buckets.
Now prevent the children from tearing around the rainwater funnel system. Make them sit down, ignore the huge amount of water splattering across them, and encourage them to write an essay on Victorian attitudes to wealth and inheritance in Great Expectations.
With no screaming, tearing or roaring.
Which, again, is about as successful as you'd imagine it to be.

Rainy days. More frightening than you might think.