The pub industry is drowning not waving

An antidote to the current market conditions can come in any number of forms. I can thoroughly recommend a visit to the film version of Mamma Mia! Great songs, corny story line and a happy ending.

I can see one or two of our own more imaginative managers finding an excuse to have Mamma Mia! party nights, to complement our Tupote Ugly and Oompah Band nights. Fun for the over 40s.

Most people I talk to in the sector confirm my own experiences — that we think non-stop about ideas, upsides and downsides — and work seven days a week.

Non-pub business loved ones and friends think we are barmy. We never switch off, spend hours upon hours in our pubs — weekends mean nothing, evenings mean nothing.

So when effort seems to go unrewarded or ends in disappointment, well, it's disappointing. But we carry on.

The nature of being a pub or multiple operator usually stems from an intrinsically optimistic streak. We can always get better, trade can always improve. The downside is we talk — probably too much — about what we see as inequities. So much time is spent talking to fellow operators about Sky, landlords, costs et al. It sometimes strikes me that this "white noise" might seem to the adversaries on the other side of the fence as the usual stuff from operators. We usually seek to apportion some element of our woes onto others.

There has been quite a lot of analysts' commentary recently about the pubco model, for example. The

pubcos, perhaps unsurprisingly, tell the analysts that the pubco model is robust and tenants are doing well. These prognostications do not fit with the facts as we operators feel we are seeing them, but there are always two sides to the story. Lately, however, the tales of woe seem to be gaining credibility.

Mark Twain once said, "The report of my death was an exaggeration" and who would ever write off the British pub? But the following might serve as a poetic allegory of where we are. They are written by poet Stevie Smith:

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he's dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.