Mark Daniels: Fireworks Phobias
Like many publicans, we play host to a variety of events throughout the year and I approach each with a sprinkling of trepidation and an unhealthy dose of paranoia: will enough people turn up, will they enjoy themselves, have I ordered enough beer, is there enough staff booked on to cope with it? And then, on some events and at the last possible minute, I usually realise I've left myself with almost no time to get a Temporary Event Notice sorted out. (Roll on the new online system in January!)
But, of all the events that we do put on, the one that frightens me the most is the annual Village Fireworks Display.
In the days building up to the event I usually end up suffering sleepless nights. For one night of the year it's not just a case of worrying about whether people will enjoy themselves or if the requisite paperwork has been completed, or even if enough people will turn up to cover the gargantuan costs that now surround hosting such events, but also the worry that somebody might actually get hurt.
I like watching the displays, but I hate being the one that can be held responsible if it all goes wrong!
Because of my fears, I refuse to dabble in the time-honoured tradition of letting customers turn up with their own fireworks and set them off themselves. Rather, I call on the help of a local paramedic for first aid assistance and a qualified pyromaniac who has a license to set off fireworks and a handful of volunteers to make sure nothing untoward happens. And then I spend a small fortune on the explosives themselves.
We're quite lucky: the pub has a large field behind the grounds that, for most of the year, plays home to grazing ponies, and so we can keep the spectators at a very safe distance from anything harmful. That never seems to allay my fears though!
Last night, as barman Adam, my nine year old son Malachy, and I stood in the cold air, with rain threatening to fall at any moment, waiting for the audience to arrive, I prayed it would all be over soon.
And then, after all that build up and just like my sex life, there were lots of whizzes and bangs, oohs and aahs, and it was all over for another year. On the bonfire our Guy Fawkes, complete with grizzly pumpkin head, burned as everybody watched, his carved face gurning in a suitable expression of agony. Parents handed their children sparklers and hung around to watch the fire burn after the bright display before heading back in to the pub for burgers and hot dogs.
I looked at the motley crew of professionals who always volunteer to help me out at this time of year as we stood around the fire with a beer talking about how good the display was once again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Bonfire Night was over for another year.
If you're hosting a fireworks display at your pub this year I hope you have a good one, and enjoy it. And, most of all, be safe. Because, once all the displays are over, you know what's coming next, don't you?
Yes. Merry Christmas, everybody!
