I completely agree. About ten months ago I was enjoying a quiet pint when my village came under attack from militants armed with a variety of calibres of weaponry, the early salvo from which set fire to a house.
It later transpired, long after my heart rate had moderated and many terrifying moments as my hiding place in the male toilets was almost compromised, that it was a seasonal celebration of a failed attack on Parliament, the weapons were fireworks and the house a pallet collection colloquially termed a bonfire.
It was all I could do to return to the bar. I still, to this day, wonder what would have happened had I identified the detonations as coming from the nearby nuclear power station, or perhaps heralds of the arrival of German paratroopers. How would the 'perfectly normal level of seasonal exuberance' have worked out then?