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POEM OF THE DAY; Ganning fer a plodge.

THE sun is oot, wor school is closed, ah'm gannin doon the coast, Ah've got me dookers, an' me towel, the pavement's waarm as toast, And when I get te Whitley Bay, there's croods o' people there, Ye cannit move on Station Road, with weather set so fair.

We ahll head off towards the prom, we're gannin' tappy lappy, The sands are packed, but do we care? Why no, we're much too happy.

We find a little patch o' sand, ahll this is reet excitin', We get into wor dookers and the sea looks so invitin'.

We race each other to the waves, and splash in for a plodge, Me pal kicks watta up at me, but ah'm so quick ah dodge.

Ah plodge reet oot until the watta comes up to me waist, That North Sea's cahd as cahd can be, and ah regret me haste. Ah turn aroond and plodge back oot, away from freezin' seas, But now me woolly dookers hang doon beyond me knees.

Ah creep back up to where me towel is spread oot on the shore, And quickly get me clothes back on, jus' like ah woz before. Those dookers were me pride and joy, when Ma had done her knittin', But ah had nee idea how the sea would change their fittin'...

MICHAEL McCARTHY, Gateshead

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Title Annotation:Features
Publication:Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)
Date:Apr 24, 2015
Words:222
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