EVERYONE has their own idea of the nightmare that would await them in Room 101. For Winston Smith, in George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, the room which brings victims face-to-face with their greatest fear, was crawling with rats. For others it might be fire, or being buried alive.

For me it is dogs. And this week I was confronted with the most terrifying sight I could imagine - a great, big, snarling, slavering Rottweiler just inches from my face. This was my own, hellish Room 101.

I had jogged past this particular house, on a quiet country lane, several times before, terrified at the sight of the two ferocious Rottweilers in the garden, barking and jumping at the fence.

But this time, like something out of a film, one of them leapt through a thick hedge and over the top of a four-foot wood and mesh fence, that was supposed to be keeping it safely inside, and landed by my feet.

If someone had lunged at me in a dark alleyway with a blood-stained knife, I could not have been more scared. After screaming derangedly for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, while the dog ran alongside me, growling and baring its teeth, the owner ran out of the house.

"Don't worry, he won't bite you, he's a big softie really," she said. Now why is it that every dog owner I've ever met says this to me? Is it some sort of dog world conspiracy?

When I tell owners I'm frightened of dogs, because I was attacked and badly bitten when I was a child, they all assure me: "Oh, no, no, no. You'll just love our dog" and proceed to let the animal loose, encouraging it to slaver and jump all over me.

"Just stroke him," they plead, unable to believe I can't be won over by their darling pet, not realising that, to me, their cute little pooch is a vicious, evil beast, about to tear me apart, limb from limb. As I freeze, shudder and whimper, the dog senses fear and turns aggressive, compounding the problem.

The Rottweiler's owner eventually took him inside, leaving me trembling at the roadside.

At least, I faced my worst fear and I survived. But this is yet another road closed off to me. I am too scared to run along that route any more. And I won't be able to take my two-year-old for any more walks there in his buggy.

I know that as a dog loather I am in a minority. But I appeal to dog owners everywhere, please understand that not everyone loves your pet as much as you do.

And while you are free to have snarling animals guard your property and grounds, striking fear into the hearts of burglars and intruders everywhere, please don't unleash them on law-abiding citizens who are simply passing by.

I realise most pet owners are responsible and most of you probably think me a pathetic wuss, which, of course, I am. But don't I have a point?

I AM working on a book to raise funds for a charity which increases awareness about life-threatening food allergies. It's a favourite jokes book and so far I have written to almost a hundred famous people - including comedians, politicians, pop stars and church leaders - asking for their favourite joke, funny story or doodle.

Most mornings now, I receive a few jokes in the post, and it's a great way to start the day. But I was especially pleased to receive one, personally signed, on Saturday morning from Tory leader William Hague. Taking time to send me a joke for a good cause in the middle of the election campaign is pretty impressive. Of course, in the interests of political balance, should I receive replies from Tony Blair and Charles Kennedy in the next two weeks, I will let you know.

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