After a hard day’s work fishing, a Southwold fisherman went into his local for a well earned pint of Adnam’s Brown Ale (or a couple, or three, or more like).
He was approached by a ‘weekender’, a yachtsman up from London.
‘Good evening; he said.
‘Eevn’n; the fisherman responded.
‘Have you been out today?’ asked the weekender.
‘Yeah; was the short reply.
‘So have I. Blowing a northerly, you know:
‘Is ‘at a fact?’ was the fisherman’s response.
‘Yes indeed. You have to be extra careful when the wind lies in that direction, the weekender informed the fisherman.
‘Is ‘at a fact?’
‘Yes’, said the weekender, and then proceeded to tell the fisherman, who came from a long line of fishing folk (father, grandfather, great grandfather, generations of ’em) the different approaches and techniques of getting into Southwold harbour, depending on which way the wind lay northerly, sou’westerly, easterly, nor’nor’east. If the wind is backing this way or veering that way… On and on he went, every direction imaginable.
Suddenly the fisherman stepped in;
‘At’s a bloody rumm’n, bor. Ev’rytoime Oi goo t’ sea, th’ wind allers bloow in th’ sayme derection, ‘n’ ‘at’s a fact!’
‘And what direction is that then?’ asked the weekender with a sarcastic tone.
‘T’wards me!’ was the emphatic answer, with a dead-pan face.
With that the fisherman left the disbelieving, wide-open-mouthed yachtsman standing at the bar. As the fisherman went through the door, he turned and sang ‘See how th’ winds dew bloow’, and then disappeared.
