Brewing pint problems
Before we schmooze about pubs and pints, I feel the need to put this out there: I am not your frequent beer-drinker. In fact, I have never gone to a pub (or bar, for that matter) and ordered one — I’m more of an amaretto sour girl.
I admit to having a chug here and there (and confess I enjoy it!) but the price of a pint has gone pinting mad that I just had to write about it.
And, well, because my husband had come back after a night out with friends and was morbidly horrified at the cost of pints nowadays.
And because as a Brit I adore pubs as much as the rest of us, I ought to pen this pint madness.
Those golden bubbles are inflating
My husband remembers — not too long ago, maybe three years? — paying £4 for a pint. Palatable. Then it went up to £5. And now it’s £6.30! He got a wee bit of a shock. That’s a 57% increase. This is in Manchester, by the way.
London pints are past the £10 mark which, psychologically, has got to do some damage (I know, you can get still get cheaper pints, but the fact that they cost more than a tenner at some places is ludicrous).
And if you think prices of pints are pricey (tongue-twister that is, try saying it ten times), the chancellor John Healey’s announced a 2p rise in the price as alcohol duties get pushed even higher.
Pubs are oh-so-British. As an introvert with a penchant for softer, more intimate surroundings, our pubs are far superior to bars. They’re quaint, cosy and are a special part of our society.
Part of British furniture
You’ll notice their buildings may carry a Victorian-style, while some are distinctly mock Tudor (these were built in the 20th century) with their recognisable timber-frames, though a universal design feature seems to be the deep chestnut-coloured floors, and equally-dark brown chairs.
Pubs are a real blend of architectural styles which mirrors their diversity, and prominence in British culture and life on our lovely little island.
Pubs — and their exteriors — have always stood out to me. They’re warm and inviting. They’re found tucked away in villages, in towns and dotted in busier places.
In the past, pubs were so much more than a place to buy a tipple. It was our common room; we got together to chat politics, play music and games. It was our second living area.
Back when I was living in London, in what feels like eons ago, there was this one pub right at the edge of Hampstead that I frequented nearly every week. Of course, I had my spot.
There was a small set of stairs giving way to a narrow seating area that felt like you were eating in someone else’s dining room.
It was cosy, and you could natter for hours in the gentle atmosphere (don’t mock me, dear reader but I still get asked on occasion to show my ID! Either I look stupidly young — which, being in my mid-20s I’m not convinced of — or the barmen must secretly be teasing me. Or both.).
As soon as Spring successfully wedges Winter out of the way, pub-goers are found sitting outside, coats zipped up finished with a scarf. Nothing does Spring better than shivering while downing a pint.
Triple-whammy
Our precious pubs are under fire at the moment, and it seems like they’ve had one blow after the next. A bit like how we feel every time England plays in the world cup final. Our hope remains. However futile it’s been thus far!
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This issue spans businesses across the UK, not unique to pubs but it’s worth mentioning — and that is our abnormally high energy costs.
We’ve got a real issue with energy so before you even get going, turning on the lights and keeping the place warm is costing you more than it should. Unfortunately, the war in Iran is not helping anything.
Then there’s the high wages. Again, not unique to pubs but pubs — like many other areas in hospitality, they hire younger workers and the minimum wage has gone up. Again. To £13.21 p/hr.
Smaller businesses are simply going to hire less staff. And this isn’t great for all our Neets (our youngsters who’re not in school, work, or are undergoing some sort of training).
It’s all about incentives, plus if the cost of your input goes up (payroll’s a juggernaut of an expense for businesses) you have no choice but to hike the price of your end product.
And they’ve also been grappling with higher National Insurance (yet another tax for businesses) that was part of Rachel Reeves’ greedy £75bn tax raid in the last budget.
The British Beer and Pub Association (whose existence I was wholly unaware of till I stumbled across it while googling some bits for this blog) estimates that 360 pubs will close this year — one a day! — which will get rid of nearly 5,000 jobs.
More than half of these jobs went to people under-25.
Working at a pub, restaurant, café is usually where youngsters land their first gigs (using that money for things like: buying their first car, putting them through college or saving a bit so they’re able to move out), learning how to deal with rude customers and all the rest of the goings on there.
They’re so much more than places where you eat and drink.
In all honesty, pubs are not just facing a cost crisis, they’re facing a crisis of the tastes. We simply drink less.
That’s the bottom line. Gen Zers — a most sensible bunch, perhaps too sensible? — are acutely aware of the health problems drinking causes (oh, beers have a ton of calories! They fill properly fill you up; I struggle to finish half a pint) and the way we’re socialising — or not — is changing.
So it’s no surprise to find that we’re not downing drinks in the same ways our Gen X mums and dads did. We also spend embarrassing amounts of time by ourselves, stuck to our phones, so it’s no wonder we’re not out at the pub, drinking.
Does this mean pubs are doomed? Er, no way. Their roles are simply changing.
And pubs have adapted to change, and I hope will continue doing so. It’s partly why gastropubs came about (this term was coined in 1991, bringing food and drink under one roof).
It meant we had another reason to go to a pub other than a drink. Food is now a much bigger part of their revenue pie. So, you had a pint and a plate of good quality tasty grub.
It’s a shame that the cards seem to be stacked against pubs (and hospitality, and small businesses). But we’ll chin up, and soldier on. What’s the alternative?
So, next time you hop into a pub for a pint, you may walk just come with a fresh perspective.
As you walk away, a couple of pounds (not lb’s!) lighter, the feeling might wash over you that the pint you bought is a symbol of something far greater, and long-standing.
That we’re fighting back against an institution so rooted in our culture, and history. And maybe that’ll stop us whinging about the price.
