For many, the local pub is more than just a watering hole; it's a crucible of formative experiences. For writer Viv Groskop, that place was The Blue Ball in Bruton, Somerset, during the early 1990s, where a teenage stint behind the bar coincided with an unforgettable Christmas celebration in July.
A Teenage Haven with Two Bars
Growing up in Somerset, Groskop and her friends gravitated towards The Blue Ball on the town's high street. It wasn't a case of underage drinking—the establishment was strict, and funds only stretched to lime and soda. The allure was its dual-bar layout. To the right was the domain of 'saddos and old people' (anyone over 20). To the left was the brighter, airier bar claimed by the youth.
This separation was rarely breached, though weighty conversations about break-ups or parental dramas were solemnly relocated to the 'elderly' side. The atmosphere in both bars was thick with cigarette smoke, a decade before the indoor smoking ban, featuring a mix of Superkings and Silk Cut.
From the Kitchen Sink to the Bar Top
Groskop's initiation began in the back kitchen, washing up to earn money for driving lessons. The promise of bar work awaited her 18th birthday in early summer 1991. Her promotion coincided with the landlord's audacious plan to boost trade: hosting Christmas in July.
Initially sceptical of the 'brazen cash-grab', Groskop described the surreal scene. Outside, it was 20C during one of the driest summers on record. Inside the left-hand bar, crumpled gold streamers adorned the space above the Big D peanuts, with party poppers beside the bottles of Taboo and Mirage.
The Magic of Manufactured Celebration
The first shift set the tone. Groskop and another bartender silently pulled Christmas crackers and donned paper hats as the opening beats of Band Aid's 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' played. Against the odds, the concept was a roaring success.
With a fallow year at nearby Glastonbury Festival and A-level students awaiting results, there was a pent-up demand for fun. The festive spirit transformed the atmosphere; every night became Saturday night. Those of legal age upgraded from lime soda to snakebite and black. By month's end, the paper hats were like gold dust.
Reflecting on that summer of 1992, Groskop credits the experience with a profound life lesson. It taught her the value of creating your own joy and that, sometimes, all people need is a reason to celebrate. Build it and they will come; happiness, much like a pint, can be on tap if you're willing to try something different.
