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.