IT ISN’T often you meet a man who loves his audience as much as Vin Garbutt does.

The nice thing is that his audience seem to feel the same way. When I got there, he was in the foyer, surrounded by fans, one telling him stories about Teesdale Tups, Garbutt listening intently with an interested grin on his face. He has charisma, that’s for sure, and although he’s past his 60th year, there’s still a cheeky teenager lurking in his manner.

He arrives on stage with a battered guitar, a glass of red wine and a bottle of water.

“All the best,” he chuckles raising his glass to the audience and taking a swig of the red stuff. He introduces his first song, The Turner’s Song, explaining it’s about turning steel. “Before I did this, I spent six years apprenticed at ICI Wilton and was a tradesman for just three months,” he quips, “and when I left ICI shares rocketed.”

Garbutt’s banter is lively, dry as a sahara wind and the very first strum on his guitar tells you he means business, musical business with interest.

All his songs are full of folk tales, his voice climbing ladders of notes like he’s got to rescue someone from the top of the tallest tower. “All the best.” he says, raising his glass to the next tune he wrote about the Black Poplar, England’s rarest tree, that ‘lives by the Tees, far from ancient seas’.

There is something unique about this man who closes his eyes to sing like nobody’s watching using quirky notes that belong only to him. All the best Vin, you deserve it.