Thank God, or St Giles anyway,

For Stoney Clouds.

You could be anywhere in the: Peaks, the counties, the Dales or the moors.

Jays give sudden alarm in coppice charms,

As people arrive, who should be indoors,

Locked down from our friends and family,

But luckily not the green of Stoney.

Stoney, an apt name for stoner youth,

Pot-plastered at the bench,

On the summ...

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Lagoon and aqua English blue.

Midget white horses roll with silver eyes.

Their hooves curling forward then crash,

as the surf storms in yards behind.

Tremors invade the sandbanks and gullies,

as the slack creeps in before.

This is the world of the sea perch.

The bass. Striking hard and hitting fast.

Armoured in silver and streaking shine,

as he terrorises the r...

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