Magical Hogwarts

the wine·red wyvern, merthyr tydfil | friday 25 february 2005

"If you pick the right people and give them the opportunity to
spread their wings and put compensation as a carrier behind it
you almost don't have to manage them."
- Jack Welch

This wasn't DJ's first interview/hire - that had been Steffan, because Cormac didn't actually want to work, just invest in the business, and DJ had needed someone else besides himself to manage. Steffan was "young" (a few years older than him) but had experience, which he was happy to help DJ learn from without being patronising, which was a nice bonus. They'd established a quick rapport and that made DJ feel infinitely more relaxed about running his very first business. In fact this was his ninth interview, for the fifth position - another of the floor positions, waiting or bussing tables to be paired with either occasional bartending shifts or occasional kitchen shifts.

The pub around them wasn't quite in its final design, of course, but he had advertised an opening in "early March" and that still gave him, at the worst, two weeks to finish everything up, aside from the hirings. He needed to sign off on his beer supplier agreements and stock the beer cooler and kitchen, put up some candle sconces and art pieces on the walls in the bar room and the dining room, spruce up the restrooms, and eventually make the larger of his last two rooms into a proper office. And then apply for a Floo License to install a fireplace in what was currently serving as an employees' coat closet. So for now, all his interviews were taking place over the bar counter.

He didn't know much about @Madelyn Underhill yet, except that she was a fellow Hogwarts alum (of course) from Ravenclaw, graduated two years ahead of him, and had an... alarmingly extensive career history of eight or nine mostly part-time jobs. Compared to DJ's grand total of one (the modeling agency), plus this new business venture. To be fair to himself, he "hadn't existed" for nearly twenty-three months, but it still stung a bit. DJ was his own worst critic, after all.

One of the double doors in front of him swung open, and DJ looked up with a pleased, welcoming smile. "Right on time," he said, holding his hand out over the bar as his job applicant approached. "You must be Madelyn. I'm DJ."

Madelyn wasn't as frazzled as she might have been on her first or second job interview. After a while, it just became par for the course. And she'd started to realize that there were indeed more jobs than available workers in her field (part-time customer service), so she was pretty much guaranteed to find something somewhere. If not this place, than the next, and that certainly took some pressure off.

And because she wasn't a perfectionist or over achiever, Madelyn knew better than to over sell herself in an interview. She wasn't applying to do three people's jobs and get her name on a plaque on the wall. She was here to get a job, do the job, and earn a paycheck. Easy-peasy.

She was dressed nicely though, black slacks and a magically ironed button up blouse that she found on a department store clearance rack last week. Her sneakers clashed with the smooth material of her pants, but Gringotts would go broke before she wore heels to work. (Or a potential new work environment.) Arriving on time (which meant five minutes early, but hanging around outside until three minutes before), Mads pushed open the door and took in the place.

She knew they hadn't opened yet, and that was exciting. If she landed the job, she'd be around when it started, and there was something fun about that idea. "Yeah, I'm Mads, nice to meet you DJ." Madelyn said, her Brummie accent as thick as ever. Reaching to shake his hand as firmly as she could with her perpetually cold and small hand, Madelyn then slid into the bar stool, assuming they were doing the interview right here.

DJ couldn't help but smile a little broader as he heard the emphatic Birmingham in Madelyn's - or rather, Mads' - vowels. Of course, to him everyone in England and Scotland (and Ireland) had an accent, but some were stronger than others, meaning more differences from his South Wales dialect. Her handshake was sturdy if a bit shivery, but she wasn't here to be hired on the basis of her ability to greet people. Or, well, she was, but her interpersonal skills were more important.  "So this isn't going to be anything too formal, Mads," he said by way of getting started. "All I need is to make sure you have the skills for the position, and that you and I both think you'd be a good fit here, and then you just need to let me know what considerations you'd like for your hours."

He tapped on her CV, submitted when the first job postings had gone up, and through which DJ (with a little help from Cormac) had weeded out a few applicants before offering second-round interviews. "For the most part, I have to say, I already know you can do the work. Waitress for three years at Deja Brew, and formerly at two other places; and bartender for four years at Frida's, and formerly at Grosvenor. I'm assuming you'd prefer floor and bar over floor and kitchen, based on your experience?"

He reached under the bar counter and grabbed a laminated copy of the double sided beer menu that Steffan and he had finalised on Monday. "I'd like to know if there are any brews on here you're unfamiliar with, aside from the Cwmystwyths. I don't care what each night's bartenders personally recommend to their customers, as long as they have an idea of what our whole selection generally tastes like. I won't expect you to push anything particular; I just want happy drinkers." He gave her a few moments to peruse that, while he looked back over her CV casually.

"Let's talk about atmosphere," he said. "The Wyvern is meant to be modern and relaxed, while still satisfying and appreciated by witches and wizards of more traditional tastes. We're keeping the staff small on purpose to create a feel of familiarity between patrons and servers. I know you won't be here as often as the others, based on your existing work schedules, but do you still feel comfortable not just taking orders from customers, but chatting with them too?" He was sure he knew the answer but wanted to make his expectations clear regardless. "On the flip-side, do you feel confident in your ability to calm down any riled-up customers or defuse situations at the bar?" While not a requirement, knowing where she stood on having 'bouncer' as part of her floor or bar job duties would give him an idea of whether she needed to be staffed alongside someone more authoritative-looking that could take care of problems.

DJ said it wasn’t going to be a formal interview, or at least not too formal and Madelyn tried to visibly relax a little. She wanted this job; it would mean she could stay away from jobs like Zip Zap for a long time. Her bartending spot at Grosvenor’s was only seasonal this year, and if they didn’t keep her past March, she’d need another paycheck. And this place was as good as any (and from the looks of it: better than most). She nodded along as the wizard spoke, settling into the stool as she grew more comfortable.

Even though it was Madelyn who was technically interviewing for a job at DJ’s bar, she was also judging him. She’d been an employee to enough overbearing, micromanaging, superficial pricks to know one when she met one. And DJ seemed a decent guy; at least, it seemed like he cared about picking the right people for the job. And Madelyn had every belief she could be one of those people. She’d done a lot of bartending in the past, and enough waitressing at the Deli and even Deja Brew. “Aye, that’d be bostin’,” she said, nodding that she would indeed prefer the bar over the kitchen. She’d wait tables too, but the bar was where she was most comfortable.

Madelyn reached for the menu he provided and scanned the names quickly—it was all pretty standard stuff, with slight exceptions, and she nodded again. “Yeah, I can handle that,” Madelyn looked up from the page to meet his eyes. At Frida's, she learned of two different kinds of drinkers: locals and tourists. Locals already knew what they wanted, and all she needed to do was pour. Tourists asked for recommendations, and she knew the better she did, the more she was tipped. Madelyn smiled when he mentioned happy drinkers.

“Yeah, I can talk to people,” Madelyn hated this part of interviews; hated when it seemed like she was just parroting back whatever the manager asked her. She wasn’t lying, but only a fool would have said anything other than ‘yes, I can do exactly everything that you just mentioned’ in that moment. DJ’s next question gave her more room to flex, though, and Madelyn sat forward as she began to answer. Mads was often two sides to the same coin. Sometimes she could be outgoing and social, energetic and eager to make connections, and other times she was reclusive, quiet, and keen to be alone. Luckily, the opportunity for money often persuaded the social side out.

“After working at ZipZap and, well, everywhere else, I have had a lot of experience with angry drunks, I know how to talk to them.” And when to get someone else involved – Madelyn had a good sense for trouble brewing, and for when things were about to go beyond her abilities. “Are you going to play sports games in your bar?” She asked, looking around for tellies, because it was relevant. “Or have trivia or karaoke nights, or anything like that?” Madelyn remembered he had said modern, but he also said relaxed, so she was eager for clarification.

DJ wasn't sure what 'bostin' was but he inferred from context that Mads did, indeed, prefer being behind the bar. Which suited him fine; he'd rather have a part-time bartender than a part-time cook. The other whole point of the small workforce and double-jobs for everyone was that somebody could always cover somebody else. Ideally, with a seven-person staff (two managers, four kitchen, four bar, four floor), he'd finally worked out there could be fifty-six possible staffing combinations (at first he'd thought there were 384; math was not his strong suit). That didn't account, however, for personal schedules or, in Mads' case, part-time availability. He'd have to ask Steffan to help him finalise the true possible schedules once he finished hiring. Point being, a bar was a considerably smaller space than a kitchen to have to manage by oneself, so Mads' preferred arrangement was also DJ's.

And DJ was pleased that Mads seemed to already know most of the alcohol offerings, too. There were standard beers and lagers and stouts and traditional whiskeys that were as popular among wizards as among Muggles, and DJ hadn't wanted to short-change himself on that account - but there were also butterbeers and a firewhisky or too. Of special importance was the Cwmystwyth brand that he had mentioned to Mads, one of his proudest achievements as a first-time owner and boss. They were a relatively new brewery, only founded in 1999, but they were also the only large-scale butterbeer brewers in Wales, and they had refused to expand their sales beyond the Welsh border, so the stuff had been premium in England and Scotland (haters would insist that the better-known Prancepony brand out of Falkirk was actually better anyway). This had suited DJ just fine, however, and since the Wyvern was meant to be the Welsh equivalent of the Leaky Cauldron in London, that gave the Wyvern a signature drink and gave Cwmystwyth its first retail tap.

Mads seemed like she would be sociable and friendly and a great asset, even though she was a little held back for the time being; DJ chalked that up to them not having interacted in school and thus this was their first real meeting. Although he was younger, she was the one trying to make a good impression. (He was too, but he was trying to give off "casual boss" vibes and he already had his positions.) When he asked about the highs and lows of customer interaction, though, she started to open up quite a bit. In fact, she even had a few ideas of her own, and some that DJ had been debating along the lines of himself.

"Being so close to the Catapaults," he referred to the Quidditch team out of Caerphilly, "we'll absolutely be playing all of their games on the wireless; probably the Harpies as well. I wouldn't mind a tele as well, much as it might prickle some of the older folks, but it won't help us unless someone starts broadcasting Quidditch games that way. The only other sport Cymry are real passionate about is rugby union, and those are televised but I'd have to Confund the cable installers to get them in. Or work something else out. Which I wouldn't mind, honestly." He stuck his tongue up his right gum in thought. "Karaoke is definitely in the works, not so sure about trivia yet. Of course, a lot will depend on who our patrons end up being and what they'd like. I'm just being cautious about getting too gimmicky as we're just getting started, y'know?"

He slapped the bar lightly and said, "Well let's show you the rest of the place then, shall we? Obviously the bar's right here, and seats twelve; four little tables you passed coming in." He came out from behind the bar gesturing to his right, Mads' left. "A separate, more 'dining' style room through here, two tables in the middle and six booths against the walls. If we got tellys, I'd put one behind the bar and one against that far wall," he pointed opposite the room's entrance arch, which they were standing under by now. "Then back here," he headed toward the kitchen but turned left into the hallway, "are the restrooms and the office - nothing much in the office yet - and that far door at the end is right now a coat closet for employees, but once we get our Floo Permit I'll instll a fireplace and that'll be another way to arrive besides High Street."

Turning back around, he led Mads through the door into the double-kitchen. "Only one cook but four stovetops and ovens - two in here, two through the arch," he pointed to the juncture of the two tiled rooms. "Fridges are in this side," he pointed to the left of the arch, "and if we go through here," he led her under the arch, "freezer storage is immediately to our left, and beer storage is through the door on this wall to the right," he indicated them both. "Sinks in each. That door," he pointed to the far end of the second kitchen, "comes out behind the bar, so if you're floor that night but you're bringing meals out to the bar counter itself, easier to use that so you don't interrupt the bartender on call. And vice versa when you're bartending." He led her through that very door, so she could see the backside of the bar. "Ice, wine racks, beer installations and taps," he indicated them all. "Any questions, or honestly any thoughts about the layout? It's set, but not in stone," he smiled.

If Madelyn knew anything about Quidditch – other than that damned dance @Anto insisted on doing all the time – she might have nodded more enthusiastically at the mention of the Caerphilly Catapaults. Instead, she just mentally noted that it wasn’t the Wimbourne Wasps (or worse, their sworn enemies: the Applyby Arrows – Anto probably wouldn’t forgive her if she worked at an Arrows pub) and proceeded to call the home team Caerphilly Caterpillars in her mind.

“Aye, important, that,” Madelyn had worked at gimmicky bars, restaurants that tried to imitate American places, pubs that seemed to pop up overnight, and everything in between. And the best establishments were the ones that took time to evolve. That grew organically because of the neighborhood they called home. Yes, wizards had the luxury of apparating wherever they chose, but most drank close to home.

Madelyn was satisfied with the way D.J. seemed to want to let his bar grow, rather than force his ideals on the patrons right off the pitch. And when he offered a tour, she stood quietly and waited patiently. It seemed straightforward enough, even before he’d begun. Madelyn had already assumed the kitchen was behind the bar, and if there were offices or closets, they were down the hall away from the main dining area. Simple enough. Easy to work.

She followed him into the kitchen and nodded along. It might not have been a colossal work space, but with everything new and shiny, it looked like it cost a fortune. D.J. asked if she had questions – or suggestions – and Madelyn shrugged, tucking her hands into her corduroy pockets. “It’s nice in here,” she mentioned, turning to face him. From behind the bar, D.J. seemed a lot older. Likely because he’d been in a position of authority, then, and he still was now, but face to face was different. Madelyn realized she recognized his name, she'd seen his face in the papers. And suddenly she had a question.

“You famous or something?”

DJ could see that Mads was very go-with-the-flow, and suspected that would be a consistent behaviour if he hired her (when he hired her, let's be honest). She had good ideas but barely a single criticism, and seemed to appreciate the work that DJ and Cormac had put into designing and "building" the pub house.

Now that they were both behind the bar, however, there was a minor shift in the dynamic. At first DJ chalked it up to, this is where she'd be spending half of her time and what she was comfortable with, so she was more in her element. But it was more about there not being any furniture between them, standing face-to-face, and the flicker of recognition beginning to form on hers. Shortly she asked a key question that made DJ almost laugh out loud. In truth, he'd been expecting her to ask something about his history or his identity, but he'd never been called "famous." Not without the word "in" in front of it.

However, since he'd known this was coming, he was already prepared for the question. After all, she was not the first job applicant to refer (however directly or not) to his unfortunate, perceived-unsavory, past. "Well, you had already graduated from Hogwarts by the time I was wrongly accused of murder in 2001," he said drily, "but I'm sure I was in the papers for a while. The Slytherin prefect who everyone thought poisoned Linnet Willowsong." She'd likely remember Linnet more vividly than DJ; there'd only been one year difference between the girls, instead of the two between himself and Mads. "Until my trial that August when they proved I hadn't done it and Linnet was still alive anyway. Then you might remember my last name because my relatives got murdered in Rhayader in 2002 by that Widow extremist. And/or my dad's murder by her in Aberystwyth this past September." He flat-out chose to exclude the gossip column that the Prophet had published about him at the top of this very month; his lawsuit against the newspaper over that was already underway and he was already devoting enough attention to it which he'd rather be able to give to his new business.

This was the critical point, and while DJ hoped that Mads would stay, he would also understand if she no longer wanted to work here. Two of his applicants had withdrawn mid-interview after realising who he was; he was sure his applicant pool to start with would have been bigger had it not been for people saying Nope, not gonna work for a felon. He had neither the time nor the patience to waste on people who made up their minds like that; but he would also hold no ill will against them.

"Some people knew that before applying and some didn't," DJ said openly and honestly, "and if it is a concern to you, I completely understand. That said, I can confidently say you're one of the best applicants I've spoken with yet and I would love to offer the job to you. To be frank I wish you had more availability because I think you'll be a perfect fit here, but I understood you have prior commitments and other jobs." He stepped back around the outside of the bar, both to give her space and to give her an exit if she chose to take it. "So if you don't feel comfortable here, no hard feelings, and thank you for interviewing. But if you do, and you want the job, it's yours."

Madelyn took another look at DJ, noticing his strong jaw and attractive features. That combined with the fact that he had sickles enough to open a place like this, Madelyn all but assumed he was some kind of model. She expected she’d seen his face on the cover of some magical magazine; imagined he was a Witch Weekly heartthrob or something along that vein. She paid some attention to popular culture, but with a foot still in both worlds, and a lack of general interest, Madelyn didn’t pay that much attention.

She expected he was famous—she did not expect the answer he provided. “Murder?” she immediately repeated the word, even as DJ was still speaking. Madelyn gave him another look, deciding (as probably everyone he met) whether she believed he could be capable of such a thing. (With her whole five minutes of knowing him, she wasn’t exactly an expert character witness.) He was wrongly convicted. Madelyn heard that part loud and clear, and gave a sharp nod. She wondered what the circumstances were, but she’d just ask Anto (who read the Daily Prophet religiously) for the details later. It somehow felt wrong to ask DJ for more information.

“More murder?” she interrupted again, her brown eyes going a bit wide. “Shit, sorry,” Madelyn covered her mouth with her hand, a physical effort to keep herself from sticking her foot into it instead. DJ had lost family, and Madelyn felt bad for him. “Sorry about your da.” She said softly, finally, after he had finished. Madelyn wasn’t sure how all this was supposed to make her feel, but in a way, she felt even more likely to take this job (if it was offered). There was something like feeling kindred toward DJ bubbling up now. Like even though their trauma was different, they both had some, and that made him more approachable.

It was wrong to think, but she liked Aquitted DJ better than Top Model DJ in her head.

DJ continued, and included a job offer, and Mads tucked some curls behind her ears as she waited to respond. (She already knew what she would say). “Yeah, I’ll take it.” She said the moment he’d finished. “Don’t bother me none.” Madelyn confessed, offering him a shrug. “I mean, if you had done it, that’d be different, yeah.” That went without saying, but Madelyn had said it anyway and tried to offer him a smile. She imagined his time at Azkaban was no joke, but she was trying to put him at ease because he seemed plagued by opinions and assumptions of strangers of him. (As a muggleborn, Madelyn could relate.)

“If it’s a good fit, maybe my availability opens up a bit?”

It was a refreshing surprise to DJ that his 'revelations' didn't spark horrified understanding on Mads' face - rather, she seemed to be taking it all in as fresh news. Not everyone read the Prophet, he supposed. But it also meant she was making her own value judgments about him, without any of the bias in the Prophet's writing style(s). And even if that turned out poorly, he still respected Mads for it. He barely heard her soft apology about his dad, but chose not to reply to it since it wasn't her fault. Presumably. A tiny trickle of doubt bubbled up thinking that perhaps Mads had a connexion to the Dark Widow, but he flushed it down the drain in short order.

With a hair-fixing gesture, Mads responded immediately in the affirmative to his job offer, which made DJ's face light up just as immediately. An experienced barhand and non-judgmental? She was a dream come true employee-wise, even if she was only part-time. And then she suggested that if everything worked out, she might open up her availability - which DJ took to mean, I'll prioritise availability here over availability to my other jobs.

"I certainly hope it's a good fit, then, because I couldn't be more pleased," DJ shook her hand happily. "I was going to give you a few days to consider if you needed but I'm glad you're so eager to join the team here."

He nabbed a red kite feather quill from a nearby jar and moved her CV (still sitting on the bar counter) to the back of the clipboard it was on, revealing a partially blank worker's contract. "Before I have you sign, since you're my only part-timer as of right now, let me know what your regular availability will be. And then I'll ask, if at all possible, for you to come in on the 5th - it's a Saturday, a week from tomorrow - I want to get the entire team together to meet one another and do walkthroughs. Grand opening is the 10th, which I'd obviously love to have you here for whether you're on the rota or not."

Madelyn had thought the whole accused of murder conversation might take a bit longer. There was a lot to unpack there, after all. But when they briskly moved past it, she found herself not minding in the least. She had questions, and maybe—once they’d become more acquainted or enough alcohol was involved—she’d ask them, but this was not the time. It seemed they had organically addressed and closed the subject, and Madelyn moved along at DJ’s pace.

He seemed like a friendly lad. Detail oriented in the ways that mattered; in the ways that would make her job more efficient, not in the micro-managing sort of way that left her feeling frazzled. Madelyn knew how to bartend; she’d been doing it long enough to feel comfortable behind the counter. Madelyn watched as he pulled a quill and produced a contract she hadn’t known he’d had under her CV the whole time. She nodded, explaining her availability quickly and without a long, drawn-out story. He didn’t need to know her whole life story. He only needed to know the bits that would affect his schedule.

“Aye, I'll be here for both,” she added, her heavily accented words blending together, “Have you got an extra bit of parchment? So, I can write them down.” Madelyn was intelligent, but she was human. In her experience, it was better to write it down than to risk forgetting.

DJ was happy with how efficient and prepared Mads was already, and felt very confident he'd made the right decision bringing her on even just part-time. Like he'd already told her, he hoped her availability would change and she could come on full-time, because he foresaw a lot of great customer interactions and a well-used bar during her shifts. He noted that she was available on Wednesdays and Fridays, and proposed that if that was the case, he'd always put her behind the bar on Wednesdays and always have her out on the floor on Fridays. She seemed amenable to that.

"Parchment," he repeated automatically, slid his wand from his sleeve holder into his fingers, and nonverbally Conjured a sheet - Transfiguration always had been his strong area. "5th is the staff meeting, 10th is the opening," he said again as he passed the pen and parchment over to her. She wrote down the dates, and then he slid the contract over to her. "As I'm new to the business world, this is a fairly generic contract," he admitted. "Protects the business, protects your employee rights, and provides options for emergency absences, so on and so forth."

Once she signed, DJ beamed at her and held out a hand to shake hers once again. "It's going to be a delight having you abord, Mads. Thank you so much. I'm really looking forward to working with you."

Madelyn smiled, a near-silent contented sigh escaping her lips. This was the most comfortable interview she’d ever had. There was something about this place, and perhaps the manager, that put her at ease, and she leaned into that gracefully. She’d been in the hospitality industry for a long time now—most of her adult life wasn’t all that long—and she was used to feeling rushed and scrutinized by superiors, but she didn’t feel that energy here. And maybe it would change once the place was up and running, but for now, she was excited for her first shift. And to meet the other employees.

“Thanks, DJ,” she replied after she’d briefly skimmed the contract and signed her name neatly at the bottom. Madelyn took her jobs seriously (not seriously enough that she was looking to move up), but she had been raised to respect the work. She understood DJ was running a business, that the business needed to make money, and that she was paid to help make that happen, not just to be here. It wasn’t exactly a Hufflepuff sort of work-ethic, but it was enough.

“And same,” she added politely, and had been about to excuse herself when she thought of something to ask. “Oh, is there a uniform or, like, a dress code?”

Ah, the uniform. DJ was pretty glad she'd mentioned it.

"A shirt with our logo on it for at least waiting tables," he answered, conjuring up a few examples of different colours and cuts since his wand was still in his left hand. "A little more relaxed about it while you're bartending, cause patrons will always know where you're at so they won't need to look for the wyvern to find you. As far as legs - pants, skirt, whatever you want, as long as it goes down at least to mid-thigh." He wasn't opposed to mini-skirts, since patrons would probably tip her better and also frequent the pub more often, but he still wanted to maintain some class among his workers. "Nice shoes, no sandals - broken glass liabilities and all that."

DJ wished all his interviews could go as smoothly as this one had, but at least he only had two more positions to fill. Talking with and hiring all these right people was really lifting his spirits and keeping him positive about the future of the pub - a future that was taking up a lot of his worries these days, since the first month was going to be very telling about whether the business would survive or not.

He walked with Madelyn to the door and said, "Thank you again, Mads. Looking forward to seeing you on the 5th. If you have any questions before then, you can either see if I'm here, or I've got a box at the Caerphilly Owl Post you can write to - Kaun-Mann-one-oh-nine." He could not even say Owls can't deliver to my house because of the extent of the Fidelius Charm, which prohibited him from telling anyone where he actually lived. He shook her hand one more time before waving her farewell and making his way back behind the counter.

[ DJ out! ]

The dress code seemed standard for this sort of establishment, and Madelyn nodded along without a single objection or question as DJ explained it to her. Her closet was basic and bare, and knowing that most of what she had, and was most comfortable in, would work at the Wyvern was something Madelyn was happy to hear.

DJ had conjured a few options of the uniform shirt with his logo on it, so Madelyn assumed she was meant to take one of them. She ran her hand along the fabric and ended up choosing a polo shirt in black. It was simple, classic, and looked about the right size. If she had to, Mads knew the spell to adjust the hem. “Thanks,” she told him, holding the shirt against herself to double check it was a close enough fit.

Walking toward the door together, Madelyn waited for DJ to dismiss her before she knew the interview was truly over. “Will do,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t remember that address, but would remember to stop by if she had any questions. Madelyn felt nervous to start something new, but also at ease, as if she’d been here all along. She wondered if it was because the building wasn’t open yet, and she would see it from the beginning.

“See you on the fifth.” She said as she stepped out of the door and returned to Blackpool with a soft pop!

/end