You know we’re in the descent into Christmas madness when the television starts playing sickly sweet advertisements from the likes of John Lewis, where a little boy grows an alternative Christmas tree in the shape of a gigantic Venus fly-trap which vomits presents. Or, if you fancy a budget alternative, you can watch Lidl’s offering, where a racoon rescues a child’s lost toy.
Both adverts, being mini-Hollywood productions, no doubt cost hundreds of thousands, yet this Christmas, a two-minute advertisement by a Fermanagh pub costing only £700 has become a viral hit, garnering the sort of attention John Lewis, Lidl and others dream about.
Charlie’s Bar in Enniskillen proved that a good storyline will always trump even the most expensive productions. Tugging at the heart strings from the off, we watch a lonely widower visit his beloved’s grave. We follow him as he walks into town, being ignored by those he passes. He then enters Charlie’s Bar along with a trendy young couple accompanied by their dog, Missy.
The friendly barman serves the old man a pint as he sits alone – but don’t despair... Suddenly Missy the dog joins the old man and then the young couple also take a seat beside him.
Sitting in front of an open crackling fire, hands are shaken, friendships forged and the magic of your local pub mends a lonely heart.
Aye, right. Forgive me for sounding like the Grinch but having worked in pubs over Christmas for most of my adult life, I can assure you that reality is somewhat different from this ‘magical’ storyline. A realistic advert would play out as follows.
The young couple join the oul' fella with drinks exchanged until, now half-cut, the old man becomes convinced the young woman sitting opposite is ‘giving him the eye’. Not willing to miss such an opportunity, he makes a clumsy drunken pass, much to the annoyance of her boyfriend, who intervenes.
A struggle ensues to detach the oul' fella from the distraught woman during which Missy feels an obligation to join in, attaching herself to the old man’s posterior.
His scream alerts other patrons to what would appear to be a clear case of elder abuse resulting in many coming to his rescue resulting in a full-on bar brawl necessitating the PSNI to break up. With the bar wrecked and the old man dispatched via ambulance to the hospital for stitches, the young couple spend the night in the cells along with other patrons from the bar.
And Missy, well the last we’d see of Missy would be her being carried into the local vets to be euthanised, with the camera slowly panning up to a sign above the door reading, ‘Merry Christmas to one and all’.
I realise my latent cynicism is on full display and it’s important to acknowledge that our local pubs can indeed be a place of companionship and a refuge for the lonely.
My late father’s bar was just such an establishment, peopled by a cast of characters no writer could envisage. In those days they were described as ‘characters’; today they’d be described in more medical terms. Known by nicknames such as ‘Wee Kid’, ‘Mighty Mick’ and ‘Half Bap’ they were small, lonely men for whom their local pub was a second home.
Mighty Mick was an example of such a man; having been crippled with rickets as a child, his legs were completely bowed. As a boy we became firm friends, and he joked his legs were the result a failed attempt to jump over a lorry.
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Mick’s physical infirmity meant he’d never been able to hold down a job. As he was never out of our pub, I managed to coax my father into paying him to collect and wash glasses. Mick was in heaven as the small amount of extra cash allowed him to indulge his one passion in life – porter.
All went swimmingly until the night Mick’s first love clashed with his duties. Having overindulged the previous evening, Mick’s nerves were frayed, and whilst collecting glasses a metal stool fell over, startling Mick who jumped, launching the tray of glasses he was carrying onto the tiled floor. It took all my negotiating skills, but I managed to talk father down and Mick retained his beloved job.
Every pub has their own ‘Mighty Mick’, and those who care for them. Long may that continue as for many, places like Charlie’s Bar will act as a surrogate family this Christmas.
