Dibnah, the man, the booze, the women and fags.
In Fred Dibnah, the BBC, at that time were desperately searching for a working class hero to help 'them, top north' to recognise the Corporation. Fred had the lot, He drank, he smoked and carried the usual cross that we all say, 'the wife'. Fred was genuine what ya saw is what ya got. He was typical. Us hoity toity southerners, could look down our noses one minute, while he happily but ignorantly put the spanner in the works of his own relationships by failing to recognise, the value of his woman folk around him and how we were all surprised that his missus did not take him to the cleaners and how we all wanted to know the name of his divorce lawyer, who served him so well, and appeared to continue to do so when we heard that his second marriage had failed. We all felt that the second lass had her head screwed on right and understood that would never change, but would bare the cross, that’s how much we were all involved. Alas Fred tried the patients of yet another saint. Yet on the other hand Fred would have all the us lads shifting uncomfortably in our armchairs as chimney after chimney would tumble, watch Fred tirelessly climb his ladders then with cold chisel and hammer work his way down again, On several reruns of the show, we got to see how nimble and what a fine turn of speed Fred had when chased by a falling brickwork. This is where we all learn to talk in broad Bolton'ese and say "due liiike that"? With a Old Holborn roller stuck to bottom lip. Fred was a Gem, he was every young mans rascally Uncle. His respect for man kind and a craftsman’s abilities, were lessons for us all, one show proudly being shown the regeneration of a beam engine, another showing respect for a man of the cloth, or simply explaining how he cocked up some engineering thingy that only the doyenne of Dibnah would understand. Fred had his own style, a cloth cap which rotted on his head, working mans overalls and steel toe capped, hard soled boots, black and shiny, would make you wince with imaginary pain from the vilest of blisters one thought Fred must have suffered from wearing the things and of course when Fred retired, he awarded him self a gold watch chain. Tradition that’s what Fred was all about. Its amazing that the Guinness advert people did not pick up on him, after he drank the stuff after a hard days graft, His demographic was clear after all he attracted young and old a like. Dibnah’s Appreciation Societies form Penzance to the Orkneys would pay handsome to have the opportunity to listen to Fred and poor beer down his throat, Fred very rarly bought a pint. But the Guinness people preferred to spend their money on arty farty Bergmann like adverts. Boddingtons missed out completely so on and so forth. Tobacco companies blah blah blah. Fred could have made a mint and done up more steam engines, possibly enhanced his local heritage So when the idea of a night club to be opened in a sea side town populated in winter and summer by habitual northerners what better name Dibnah’s, Fred was a mans man, no Nancy boys, a Mecca for the young men who imitate Fred with cloth cap boots and moustache. Lots of beer, rollups, and pies, crisp and pickled onions and of course Dibnah’s Dollys. Mature ladies of experience or young and inexperienced; don’t think Fred would not have minded either way. Support the Dibnah Experience, comment below support for a Dibnah day where we can go round smelling of our Granddads of Beer, Tobacco and Coal and be appreciated by real woman, who say “eeeee yer remind me of me Dad”. “I’ll tell eee yer in there son” “nah watta mean like”.