“No, no Bob. I’ll get these” he insisted.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely” he replied, taking a £10 pound note from his wallet.
“I think you’re going to need a bit more than that William.”
Confirmation of that fact was not long in coming.
“That’ll be £11.80 please” said the barmen as he placed our drinks on the bar.
“Bloody hell” exclaimed William as he handed over the money, “this pub is a bit pricy, isn’t it?”
“Welcome to the real world Billy. No Westminster discounts here I’m afraid. You have to pay full whack, just like the rest of us.”
“How can people afford to pay these prices?”
“Well the simple fact is they can’t. That’s the primary reason why so many have long since deserted pubs.”
“God I remember when I used to go to the pub, a few years ago now it must be said, drinking beer was an affordable experience. What happened?”
“Well” I replied, “there are those who suggest pubcos and brewers are colluding to hike the price of beer”.
“Really” said William, looking somewhat perplexed. “That’s not what Ed Davey told us. He insisted that continual price hikes were down to the soaring cost of hops and energy.”
“You were misinformed. I’ve spoken to several hop farmers recently and all assured me that they’re tied into long term supply agreements. This provides large brewers with a safety net; guaranteeing a set price over an extended period of time.
The same applies with energy. Just like publicans, brewers protect themselves from fluctuations in the market by signing long term agreements. This notion of costs rising annually is nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
We’ve had a few bumper hop harvests in recent years, most notably 2009. Didn’t result in the price of beer coming down though, did it?
The fact of the matter is that pubcos’ priorities, particularly those saddled with large debts, lie in driving wholesale price lists up whilst obtaining increased discounts from the supplying brewers to secure greater margin. It’s a win-win situation for both parties.
Of course it’s the publican who ultimately suffers. As soon as s/he passes those price hikes on to customers more and more vote with their feet and leave. It’s a vicious cycle. The pubcos are strangling the life out of the industry; taking more and more of the cake and leaving less and less on the plate for their so called partners.”
“So why don’t tenants vote with their feet and leave?”
“The majority can’t, they’re tied into lease agreements. You see the dream was to take a pub on a lease, build up a viable business and eventually sell it on, a nice little nest egg for retirement.
As recently as 2006 leases were changing hands for as much as £200,000, sometimes even more.
Unfortunately those days are long gone. In many cases you can’t even give a tied lease away now. People no longer view them as viable.
Drink up; we’re off to another pub.”
Our next port of call was the Black Horse where I introduced William to the tenant.
“This is Reg, landlord of this fine establishment. He made £15,000 pounds in 2011; he’s on track to make considerably less this year.
Think about that William; £15,000! That’s pretty much on par with your weekly expenses allowance, isn’t it?”
“Err....yes well I do rather a lot of travelling.”
“I’m sure you do; particularly if you’re not sure which of your houses you’re actually supposed to be living in.
Anyway, that’s of no concern to us today. £15,000 for an eighty hour week, 52 weeks of the year. Reg here can only dream about minimum wage.”
“My god Reg” said William, “have you not approached your pubco about this?”
“Yes. I went along to my pubco’s HQ last week and spoke with my BDM.”
“What exactly did you say to him?”
“I asked him for a fairer deal.”
“What was his response?”
“Take a look at this. It’s a transcript of the meeting.”
'Please sir, I want some more.'
The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with fear.
‘What!' said the master at length, in a faint voice.
'Please, sir,' replied Reg, 'I want some more'.
The master aimed a blow at Reg’s head with the ladle; pinioned him in his arms and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr Bumble rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentlemen in a high chair said,
'Mr Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir. A tenant has asked for more!'
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.
'For MORE!' said Mr. Limbkins. 'Compose yourself Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?'
'He did sir,' replied Bumble
'That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'
Once William had finished reading he put the papers on the table and turned to Reg.”
“What happened then?”
“I was referred to the COP. Page 4 lays out the pubco’s obligations with regard to countervailing benefits. It says, and I quote:
‘With this view, they contracted with the waterworks to lay on an unlimited supply of water, and with a corn-factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal, and issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a week and half a roll on Sundays.’
My BDM says the pubco has provided this service so I don’t have a leg to stand on. But that simply isn’t the case.
I haven’t seen any onions in months and when I phoned the help desk to ask for my gruel allowance they informed me there was no money available.
There are many more out there like me William. Is this your idea of the Big Society? One where the fat cats get fatter while the rest of us scavenge for morsels; toiling till we drop!
I suggest you go back to Westminster and tell your ‘right honourable friends’ to think again. Make it clear that, thanks to them, business continues as usual at the Dickensian workhouse.
Now then, whilst you’re here; are you going to make yourself useful and pull a few pints?”