So yesterday I put my prices up. I did it in my usual cowardly way.
Having decided what the price shall now be, and taking into account all sorts of vague excuses as to why I might treat products in different ways, I simply went and hid.
I went upstairs and hid while my staff dealt with the criticism.
But here is the funny thing.
There was no complaint. None.
No one particularly minded.
Here I am each year wrestling with the implications of a price increase. What will old Jack do when barley wine goes to £2 a bottle? How can I face the wrath of my customers?
But the simple answer is Jack will pay £2. Simple as that. And there probably won't be a murmur.
The strange reality is that, despite being acutely price sensitive, I cannot tell the cost of the last pint of beer I bought in a pub. It wasn't important. I wasn't there because it was cheap. I was there because I was meeting friends or in a quiz or having a meal. The price really isn't that significant.
I remember vividly saying I was going to give up smoking when they got to £1 per packet. I didn't give up until they were well over £4. But it wasn't the price that made me give up. And how many customers say they'll stop drinking at £3 a pint. I doubt it.
I must learn to lighten up over price increases. After all, it is when we can increase our income too!