DOGS**

I hate dogs! They bark, they crap all over the place, but most of all I'm frightened to death of them. Big un's, little un's, black un's, white un's, everyone of them puts the fear of God into me.I must have been about seven(or eight) and I was out on my bike going up Salterforth Drag towards the quarries that you will remember up there. I was pushing my bike(it's a bloody steep hill is that)when I got to the spot where there was a drinking trough for the horses, when a collie dog came running towards me, I bent down and started stroking it, when all of a sudden it grabbed me by the hand and bit my fingers, drawing blood. Being only seven(or eight)it hurt, and I cried.Whatever my plan was for the day was cancelled immediately (what was a seven or eight-year-old lad doing out on his own miles from home)and off I cycled home to tell my mum. Cannot remember what transpired, but I do know that the dog had been in a fight and had a raw wound on its neck, and of course when I was stroking it I touched the wound, hence the beast attacking me.So ever since I have been frightened to death of dogs and have many tales of my encounters with them. I have had a brief respite the last five years since I had a replacement hip and I walk with a stick, I feel more secure when in the presence of them for I can defend myself with the stick.

IF I SHOULD EVER LOSE YOU NOW...

You are my very precious friend,
You mean so much to me.
If I should ever lose you now,
So unhappy I would be.

We've been together so many years,
We've had our ups and downs,
If I should ever lose you now,
You'd turn my smiles to frowns.

The years keep passing day by day,
Our lives they do unfold,
If I should ever lose you now,
There's a story to be told.

MR MOLE

Magical, mystical, mysterious mole,

His house hides hidden, here's his hole.

The tracks they take the tractor tills,

Makes Mr Mole make more molehills.

THE HILLS

The mist has gone, the hills are back,
Once they were green, now they are black.
The dowdy heather, looks so forlorn,
The whitewashed farmhouse all alone.

The silhouette of gnarled old tree,
Stands alone for us to see.
The single track to mountain's top,
The block of trees the wind to stop.

The snow-white dots of hardy sheep,
The dry-stone walls downhill they creep.
The mist's now back, hills disappear,
But still I hold their image dear.

THE US PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION 2008**

For what seems an eternity we (in England) have been bombarded on TV and in the newspapers by an endless barrage of "The US Presidential Election."

Democrats, Republicans, Primaries, I still don't understand what these mean, even after all this time. Why does it go on for ever? In England all it takes is someone pushing a leaflet through your letterbox which says,
"Please vote for ...",
the following coming up on your TV screen three times,
"And now a party political broadcast on behalf of the .......... party",
and finally, 25% of the population (if it's a fine day), one Thursday, walk round to the polling station, usually in the nearest school hall, you are given a voting slip, then you stand in a rickety plywood booth and put your cross against a name. That's it!
It's all over, and nobody really cares who wins anyway, for we will only complain about whoever it is and swear not to vote for them again.

But not in America, oh no, John "crack" Cocaine or Ali "big ears" Barba only have to go shopping and they attract a bigger crowd than we do for the FA Cup Final (mind you it's probably more entertaining"). Can you imagine English people doing that? They shout and cheer, wave cardboard banners in the air and all the candidates do is pull the other one to pieces. And another thing, they are always smiling! Can you imagine Gordon Brown smiling or that other one, whatever his name is.

I cannot take the two candidates seriously. Every time I see McCain I crack out laughing for I always have a mental image of James Cagney portraying Al Capone saying "oooh you dirty rat" and as for "those ears" on Ali Barba.

Not long to go now and it will all be over and Ali Barba (I hope) will be the 44th president of The US of A, except for the next two months there will be re-counts and re-counts of re-counts until the four years is nearly up and it's time to start all over again. Bet George Washington is up there, a little smirk on his face, thinking to himself, "what the hell have I started?"

PRECIOUS MOMENTS

The morning light comes shining through,
And with it are my thoughts of you.
Precious moments, count each one,
For very soon they will be gone.

THE SOUNDS OF MORNING

The rustle of paper, the crunching of toast,
These are the morning sounds of which I hate most.
I wake up sleepy not feeling my best,
These are the sounds that my patience do test.

Not wanting to talk I hide away,
But the person that's with me is awake and gay.
To try and halt the noise I dread,
I think I'll just go back to bed.