Norbert - Vocals, Guitar, Bass, Drums

Dobba officially left the group in 1992 to pursue other creative interests. This of course finally resulted in the publication of his first novel "Plenti & Grace" in 2008. 16 years in the writing Steven Spielberg has recently snapped up the rights to turn this epic blockbuster into a sure fire box office smash.

To celebrate this momentous achievement  the remaining members of the Fingolstones decided to pen a tribute number to him. Unfortunately Daz had to drop out at the last minute as he was stuck at work due to an unexpected coach load of pensioners demanding tea and those little triangle sandwiches with the crusts cut off..

Undeterred the session got under way with Norbert yet again providing vocal duties as well as playing all the instruments. By this stage in the Fingolstones career the band was becoming more and more a one man operation and Norbert was seriously considering going solo. 

Despite all this Norbert managed to produce yet another masterpiece. In 3 short minutes the song tells of the rise and fall of one of Rocks great performers. A guitarist of supreme talent who never quite fulfilled his potential. Thomas The Tank Engine and Peppa Pig have a lot to answer for.

During the late 80's early 90's Dobba was one of the most distinctive characters in the UK music scene. His style was described by Womans Weekly magazine as a cross between Steven Tyler and Pat Butcher.  

Dobba played guitar
Jammin good with Norbert and Booga
And The Charmer and Daz
He played it so loud
His dad he would shout
Turn off that racket now
It's just a bloody row


Dobba looked like shite
Scruffy clothes and scruffy hair do
Like some twat from Birdholme
His nails needed filing
His belly would hang
Oh tried to hold it in
Strung out on Ventolin


So where were the Fingolstones
When the birds tried to suck him in
Without our advice to guide him
He would pull the ropey mares
And say hey man who cares


Dobba liked his beer
Supping ale from noon until sunrise
The kid had no class
Shag any lass
With his hairy ass
Oh but it all went bad
Met a bird and she was mad


Going out with this psycho
She chucked a bottle right at his head
Like a real ale messiah
When Dobba got too canned
We had to break up the band