Charlie McVeigh, landlord of the Draft House group of pubs explains why the OFT’s decision to drop CAMRA’s super-complaint against the beer tie will see yet more pubs closed. What do you look for in a pub?
If you think pubs add nothing to the community, stop reading now. If you care at all, spare a moment to mourn the death of this national institution in many less fortunate communities across Britain. Then get angry.
We are inured to the news that 50 pubs a week are shutting down. But things just got a lot worse. I am sure many tied leaseholders boiled over at being told by the OFT last week that the beer tie (meaning they are legally obliged to buy beer at whatever price their landlords choose to set) is “working well” for consumers. In the same week Punch Taverns announced the sale or closure of 1,000 (mostly tied) pubs. How can it be “working well” when many areas of Britain face a future without access to draught beer?
Pubs in less affluent areas of Britain are in danger of becoming extinct. They have been priced out of the market by rapacious landlords and the supermarkets. If we don’t look sharp we are in danger of losing them forever.
Community Pubs, aka the traditional boozer, (as distinct from metropolitan or “country” gastropubs) are vital meeting places for the forgotten agricultural villages, market towns and down-at-heel districts of our cities. Yes, they may be entropic hubs of indolence and indulgence. But where’s the harm in that? Aren’t we hard-pressed enough? What’s gone so dreadfully wrong?
The bottom line is that pubs became too expensive to run and can no longer compete in economically disadvantaged areas. Sure, some pubs were bound to fail. Coaching Inns on A-Road roundabouts were among the first to go. The days of pulling in for a pint to keep the wolf from the door while driving from Baldock to Biggleswade are long gone and so are the one-time coaching inns that fulfilled that function. Most are either derelict or (worse?) are now Happy Eaters.
Why is this? The beer pricing model is seriously warped. Look at the supermarkets. Selling booze at below cost to drive traffic through your doors cannot be right. If you’re struggling to make ends meet on minimum wage and Asda is doing 20 cans of Stella for £9, how could you justify paying more than £2.50 a pint at your local?
The regulatory environment hasn’t helped. The smoking ban has alienated many customers. Hard-pressed independent landlords (surely the future of the industry) are swamped by bureaucracy and box-ticking unmanageable for a small business without access to an HR department.
The pub ownership model isn’t working either. Brimming with free market zeal the Tories forced the breweries to sell off their pubs in the early 1990s. Thatcherite dogma said it was anti-competitive that pub tenants had to buy beer exclusively from their brewery owners. Smart City types formed ‘PubCos’ which acquired these estates (Punch Taverns, for example, owes more than £3bn, or £464,000 for each of its pubs), but in the majority of cases, and catastrophically for the industry, the “tie” which obliges the tenant to buy beer from its landlord remained in place. So now most pubs are not only paying large rents but also have to buy their beer at grossly inflated prices, which if charged by a supermarket would cause a customer to shop elsewhere.
Challenges arising from supermarket pricing, pub regulation and punitive leases all have a cost. And that cost is a dire selection of the cheapest brands of beer, “ready” meals, poorly trained staff and management, delayed refurbishment, increasingly desperate price promotions and so on. In other words, a disheartening experience for the customer creating a spiral of decline, leading sooner or later to yet another closure statistic. What is it we stand to lose?
Cast your mind back to the 1970s (if you’re too young, channel Life on Mars). Back then going down the pub was as natural as breathing, an accepted alternative to organised or profitable activity. For me, growing up in west London, it was the Trafalgar on the King’s Road (now a style bar). We used to run in after school to try to catch a glimpse of the stripper on the stage at the back. Or the Phoenix on Smith Street (now a posh gastropub) where you could talk to George Best among the hardened all-day drinkers at the bar. And The Star on Portobello Road (now a cocktail bar), immortalised by Martin Amis in London Fields, full of criminals, market traders and ancient war heroes replete with medals. Or the Queens Elm on Fulham Road (now a clothes shop) where (true) I once played pool with Jimmy White.
At least, most of the reincarnations are still watering holes of one kind of another – elsewhere they are boarded up, or converted into flats. And even now, there are rare survivors in the neighbourhood. The Cock & Bottle off Westbourne Grove has a sign over the bar which reads “Shut up, Jeremy”. Jeremy died eight years ago.
Venues such as these must be supported and encouraged if we are not to drown in a sea of blandness … dare I ask you, gentle reader, to join me in reminiscing over particularly epic, bizarre or wonderful pub experiences? And what can landlords do to entice us back to the traditional boozer? Is there still a place for the pool table and darts board in our affections? Do pub quizzes have the draw they once did?
