Meet Dick Cheaddar
(Not Cheddar like the cheese — you wouldn’t want him on your crackers or toast.)
Dick is a simple man in his late 40s with a face that looks like it’s constantly reacting to a bad smell — but don’t be fooled, he’s not pulling faces… he’s just gurning by default. Born and bred in Widnes, Wigan, Wirral & Warrington. Dick still lives at home with his dear mum & his sister Fanny, who insists on calling him “our little Dick. His retort is to call her Fanny Cheddar like the cheese!”
He’s a vision in Lycra — head-to-toe in all the cycling gear, no bike in sight. “It’s like gym gear,” Dick says, “for people who’ve never seen a treadmill.” He wears it with pride, especially when popping to the corner shop a pint of milk.
Dick’s got the kind of presence that makes people cross the road — not out of fear, just… confusion. He’s a magnet for graffiti, unsolicited advice, and people writing things like “Dick lives here” on the side of his house (which, to be fair, is accurate) & other weird stuff.
On stage, Dick is just Dick. He’ll tell you what he’s been up to that day, show you what’s in his Bag for Life, and maybe even share a tale or two from his non-existent love life. He’s the kind of bloke your mum warns you about — not because he’s dangerous, but because he might try to show you his special collection of stools. If he offers you a Werther’s, you may be the one.
Sometimes you won’t see Dick… but Dick sees you.
Do not come and see this guy if you're under the influence of narcotics. You've been warned.
