IT'LL BE ALRIGHT ON THE NIGHT

It appears that quite a lot of dealers have dabbled in some aspect of the entertainment business during their careers. When pressed, many will admit to being ex-musicians, although I’ve yet to hear them produce anything melodic at a swapmeet. Some dealers appear to have had a stab at being comedians, although with their sense of humour I’m surprised they haven’t ended up being stabbed instead.

Anyone who’s been exposed to public performance will understand the paralysing fear of being under-prepared. I've been involved with the media in various guises thanks to countless years on the toy fair circuit. It’s enabled me to pontificate at length about my chosen subject from one end of the country to the other.

Sometimes it can get a bit stressful. You know that awful nightmare where you’re about to make a speech at a prestigious dinner? You’re late, you’ve left your notes on the train, and you’re about to stand up and bluff your way through an entire after dinner speech? And to cap it all, then you realise, you’re not wearing any trousers? There can’t be a dealer in the country who hasn’t had that anxiety dream sometime.

Maybe it dates back to exams; that sinking feeling when you know it's too late to learn anything, and you're going to have to wing it or leave early. Or maybe it's a throwback to the silly sixties, when we never prepared anything, to allow for that all-important spontaneity to come through. Of course, the speech is never made. I wake up in a sweat, so relieved it's not happening that I happily get up and make Mrs Pete a cup of tea.
The last time got me thinking again about the promoters, and what a stressful job they do. Sometimes an enthusiastic amateur decides to try their hand at organising a show, and they completely under-estimate the work involved.

You know what's going to happen. You’ll get to the show to find a few tables set up, some smugly complete, some still nude. A bunch of people are milling around with vacant expressions. Incredibly, the organiser is not here yet. Congratulations. You are about to encounter the phenomenon of the underorganiser.

Despite having sent you a load of dos and don'ts, plus forms in triplicate which you’ve filled in and returned, you've had no acknowledgement from him. Half the people at the show claim they've never met him, and there's no floor plan.

The underorganiser is well known for getting things done and making things happen, but they leave a trail of destruction in their wake. They are very personable and agreeable to all suggestions. They appear to delegate, but they never actually give their volunteers any responsibility, so everything has to be referred back to them.If you confront the underorganiser with a basic problem, like the complete absence of advertising, or tables, or light, it will inevitably be someone else's fault. By having bought it to his attention, you are now implicated too. It might even become your fault. When someone else has the bright idea of borrowing a pile of trestles and boards from the building site next door, the organiser’s response is "There you go. I don’t know what you were worrying about."

Committees were invented to avoid this sort of chaos. Now I'm not going to wheel out a load of cheap digs at committees; I’ve been on several myself, and everyone involved worked hard and selflessly on behalf of the organisation, and achieved zero. But toy shows have a dynamic of their own. When they start, common sense prevails and everyone mucks in together. As it matures, it gets more predictable and taken for granted. The only way to keep it fresh is to ruthlessly kill the show after three years and keep starting new ones.

Another hazard the habitual trader has to look out for is the overhelper. He is a new, enthusiastic collector, ambitious and keen to integrate with the scene. He can see how disorganised you are so he decides to give you a helping hand at a fair. While you’re trying to gather your wits, your helper will demand to know what they can do to help, which sends you off at a tangent, trying to organise them as well. If you allow yourself to get steamrollered into accepting help, it causes more stress than it solves.

While tooling around some fairs in the north west recently I had to ask about the signs on lots of motorway bridges in the area. They simply say ‘Gouranga’. Some people claim it’s the company which maintains the structures, but I’ve never heard of Gouranga engineering. Another source tells me it’s a command from a religious sect, meaning "Be Happy", a sort of transcendental road safety campaign. Apparently if you chant it out loud it pulls your mouth into a smile. So next time you encounter the underorganiser or the overhelper, join with me and say "Gouranga".

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