Fireworks Are Magnificent. People Are the Problem.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Eyes open. What the hell was that?

Look at the clock. 1:43am.

Nothing. Silence. Head back on the pillow, eyes close, sleep begins...

Then...

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

For fuck's sake.

Welcome to another peaceful night in Oldham.

I love fireworks. And I mean LOVE fireworks. Give me a properly organised professional display and I'm there. The anticipation, the first rocket, that enormous explosion that you don't just hear but feel in your chest, the sky filling with colour and thousands of people staring upwards together while kids stand absolutely mesmerised by it.

Fireworks, done properly, are bloody magnificent. They represent celebration, spectacle and excitement.

And that's precisely why what happened last night pisses me off so much.

Because this wasn't a firework display. It sounded like somebody had bought several enormous boxes containing dozens of air-bomb/repeater-style fireworks and decided the surrounding population should enjoy them too. Whether we wanted to or not.

At 11pm. Then later. Then later again.

And eventually...

2:30 IN THE BLOODY MORNING.

What exactly are we celebrating at 2:30am?

I'd genuinely love to know. A birthday? A wedding? A religious celebration? Did somebody finally get their Deliveroo? Has Oldham Athletic won the Champions League?

Whatever the occasion, congratulations.

But here's a revolutionary concept: nobody else gives a shit at 2:30 in the morning.

That's the point. Celebrate. Have fun. Enjoy your life. But freedom doesn't mean doing whatever the hell you want while everybody around you absorbs the consequences.

That's not freedom.

That's selfishness with explosives.

And these weren't sparklers

We're not talking about somebody's dad standing at the bottom of the garden with a pathetic Roman candle shouting, "Stand back, kids!"

These sounded massive. Big repeater-style barrages, with dozens of explosions from a single ignition.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

The sort of thing where your first waking thought isn't, "Oh lovely, fireworks."

It's: "Has somebody invaded Rochdale?"

And just when you think it's finished, there's silence. You settle down. You start drifting off. Then another enormous box starts.

At that point, it's not a celebration.

You're holding an entire neighbourhood hostage to your entertainment.

"Oh, stop being miserable..."

No. I'm not accepting that bollocks anymore.

Because while somebody is standing outside admiring their enormous box of airborne explosives, somewhere nearby a baby has just been woken up. A terrified dog is shaking underneath a table. Cats are hiding. Elderly residents have been startled awake. People with PTSD can find sudden explosions genuinely distressing. Parents who've finally managed to get their children to sleep are starting all over again.

And thousands of people who have to GET UP AND GO TO WORK are staring at their bedroom ceiling thinking:

"Please stop being a twat."

That's not being miserable. That's asking adults to display the level of social awareness normally expected of a reasonably intelligent Labrador.

Here's the really ridiculous part

Oldham has multiple dedicated firework outlets. Dedicated shops selling explosives. And some firework businesses advertise very late opening hours.

Why?

Why in the name of all that's holy does anybody need to purchase a massive box of fireworks approaching midnight?

What emergency has occurred?

"Quick! Get dressed!"

"What's happened?"

"WE'RE OUT OF AIR BOMBS!"

"Jesus Christ. I'll get the car."

Milk? Bread? Paracetamol? Fair enough.

But if your emergency purchase at 11:45pm contains a safety fuse and instructions saying STAND WELL BACK, perhaps it could wait until morning.

And this is where the authorities come in

Because shouting at idiots achieves very little. Idiots have one enormous evolutionary advantage:

They don't know they're idiots.

So where are Oldham Council and Greater Manchester Police in this conversation?

That's not rhetorical. I'd genuinely like an answer.

What enforcement takes place when fireworks are repeatedly discharged late at night? How many complaints are received? How many warnings are issued? How many prosecutions result? Are problem locations identified? Are retailers reminded of their responsibilities? Are existing laws sufficient?

And why are extremely powerful consumer fireworks so readily available when the consequences of irresponsible use are completely predictable?

If the answer is, "Well, there are regulations..." — wonderful.

There are speed limits too.

They don't work terribly well if nobody enforces them.

I've seen the danger myself

And here's where it stops being funny.

I've witnessed fireworks being discharged dangerously close to commercial buildings and shop premises.

Big fireworks. Next to buildings.

Let that sink in.

A commercial premises can contain hundreds of thousands of pounds of stock, electrical equipment, packaging and potentially combustible material. There can be vehicles outside, people nearby and homes nearby.

And somebody thinks:

"You know what this situation needs? Explosions."

If I walked up to a shop carrying a can of petrol and announced I was going to create a massive flame outside, somebody would quite reasonably call the police.

Put the explosive inside a colourful cardboard box called MEGA THUNDER APOCALYPSE 200, however, and apparently it's family entertainment.

Then they leave their shit behind

This might actually annoy me almost as much.

Because after the magnificent celebration of selfishness comes the traditional closing ceremony: leaving all the crap on the floor.

Cardboard, plastic, spent tubes, packaging and burnt debris. Just walk away. Somebody else will clean it up. The Council. A shopkeeper. A resident. Anybody.

Just not the person who actually made the bloody mess.

And then people ask, "Why does the town look like this?"

There's your answer.

Places don't become neglected overnight. They become neglected one selfish act at a time. One dumped bag. One smashed bottle. One piece of litter. One destroyed flowerbed. One massive firework battery abandoned on the pavement.

It's the same mentality:

"I got what I wanted. Somebody else can deal with the consequences."

And THAT is the real problem.

Not fireworks.

Attitude.

So here's my proposal

Make general consumer firework sales seasonal. October and November. That's your principal window.

Outside that period, legitimate organised events and recognised celebrations could operate under appropriate exemptions or arrangements.

And I'd seriously consider restricting late-night sales, because nobody has yet convinced me that society desperately needs the ability to purchase a box containing dozens of aerial explosions at nearly midnight.

I'd also like much tougher enforcement against people firing them irresponsibly around homes, businesses and public spaces. And if retailers repeatedly contribute to problems by ignoring their responsibilities?

Come down on them like a ton of bricks.

"BUT YOU'RE BANNING FUN!"

No.

I'm suggesting something horrifyingly radical.

Responsibility.

Remember that?

It's what existed before apparently every piece of antisocial behaviour had to be defended as somebody's right to "enjoy themselves."

Your right to have fun doesn't automatically outrank everybody else's right to sleep. Your celebration doesn't magically become my celebration because your firework has a 500-metre audible radius.

And cultural tradition, religion, birthdays, weddings, New Year's Eve, Bonfire Night or Dave finally passing his forklift licence don't suspend the basic requirement to not behave like an arsehole.

Celebrate. Please do.

But consider the people around you.

Because fireworks aren't the problem

Fireworks are incredible. In professional hands they're spectacular. They're engineering, chemistry, theatre and art compressed into a few breathtaking seconds.

I'll happily stand outside watching them. I'll applaud them. I'll photograph them. I'll stare at the sky saying "WOW!"with everybody else.

But put powerful fireworks into irresponsible hands and something beautiful becomes something completely different.

It becomes a nuisance. A danger. A fire risk. A frightened animal. A screaming baby. A shattered night's sleep. A street covered in rubbish.

And potentially, one day, something much worse.

The firework hasn't changed. The person holding the lighter has.

So, Oldham... am I wrong?

Should powerful fireworks be available all year? Should dedicated firework shops be permitted to trade late into the night? Should sales be restricted primarily to October and November? Should enforcement against antisocial firework use become significantly tougher?

Or should people simply be allowed to fire enormous boxes of explosives into the sky whenever they fancy because it's their idea of "fun"?

Tell me. Disagree with me. Argue with me. Change my mind.

Because after being repeatedly blasted awake between 11pm and 2:30am, I'm genuinely interested to hear the argument for why everyone else should have to tolerate it.

I love fireworks.

I just wish some of the people buying them came with instructions too.