“There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.”
I’m sure London’s pub goers are as likely to agree with this line today as when it was written 230 years ago. But the author – pub fan Samuel Johnson, who also dabbled in dictionaries –would be dismayed to learn just how much pressure today’s public houses are under merely in order to survive.
The current rate of closures – shockingly now at more than one pub each day – is usually ascribed to a few things. It could be inflation, energy prices, staff shortages or the cost of living hitting wallets. But actually, there is another threat that’s hardly ever mentioned. Yet it’s just as deadly.
That threat: a mix of overzealous enforcement and an unbalanced regulatory system that treats even the most responsible operators not as partners in civic life, but as offenders-in-waiting.
The Licensing Act 2003 was meant to strike a balance: protecting residents while supporting responsible hospitality. A laudable aim. However, it has morphed into something far more malign.
Each premises’ licence, once envisioned as a standardised framework, has become a bespoke battlefield – warped by inconsistent decisions and legal brinkmanship. Councils, understandably wary of challenge and keen to avoid confrontation, too often default to the path of least resistance: siding with complainants, even when claims are unsubstantiated.
At our Notting Hill pub, The Fat Badger, we were given a noise warning within a week of opening. Four weeks later, an abatement order was served – no verification, no site visit, no evidence.
And then… Silence. Having become concerned after the initial threat, we’d taken to recording video evidence of the decibel readings every fifteen minutes – which showed the volume was well within limits, and well within licensed time. We submitted this as a challenge, and… Yet again, silence.
In fact, the order was not withdrawn until the very last moment before an emergency legal hearing we’d had to secure. But this was not before more than £50,000 had been racked up in legal costs – not to mention the losses from having had to close the pub again in the meantime. The council, which had not engaged in any substantive dialogue, offered £10,000 in compensation.
We’re very fortunate that, for us, that was just about survivable. For a smaller operator, it might have been terminal.
Or another example: The Pelican in Notting Hill – a pub that has existed for over 250 years. Opening as Covid lockdowns ended, we hold our hands up to having been unprepared for the swell of customers that summer. But even when we’d got to grips with it, the venue faced a sustained campaign by individuals, taken unquestioningly by the authorities, leading to a lengthy process of official challenges to regain permission for a few tables outside. And, as ever, the legal fees. The most serious (spurious) allegations were never upheld, but the license conditions remain a daily challenge to maintain.
This isn’t just our story. This is not just about two pubs under one company. Across London, a consistent picture is emerging of a licensing regime in need of review.
To be clear, regulation matters. No-one is arguing for a free-for-all. But where rules exist, they must be applied fairly, predictably and with a sense of shared purpose. Right now, the impression among the many operators I know and talk to is that the system is rigged against them.
The long-term risk is that responsible operators will quietly stop investing in areas that feel unsupportive. Pubs that might have anchored local high streets will instead shutter. The lively, mixed-use city London aspires to be will start to feel a little thinner, a little more fragile.
Pubs are not just businesses. They are civic assets
Pubs are not just businesses. They are civic assets. They create jobs, provide social infrastructure and play a quiet but crucial role in making neighbourhoods feel safe and connected.
In our own venues, we see this every day. More than 11,000 people walk through the doors of our pubs each week. Our payroll alone contributes £600,000 a month to the local areas. Our tax contribution this year stands at £3.7 million. We pay for street security, reinvest in our spaces, and offer training and career paths to hundreds of Londoners. We want to carry on contributing – as does every publican we know.
At a time when the capital faces real concerns over crime, cohesion and economic stability, this is the kind of sector that should be encouraged – not treated with suspicion.
There are signs of hope. The Mayor of London’s proposed nightlife taskforce could provide a much-needed forum for structural reform. So too could the new powers that allow the Mayor to review council licensing decisions. We – and many others – will engage to help in whatever way we can.
But reform will require more than political initiatives, however well-meaning It will require a shift in mindset: one that sees hospitality not as a nuisance to be managed, but as a valuable, constructive contributor to London life.
Because the truth is, when good pubs fail, it is not just landlords who suffer. It is staff, suppliers, customers – and the cities and communities that rely on them.
Let’s not wait for more closures before we acknowledge that the current system is failing. Let’s fix it now – while there is still something worth saving.
James Gummer is cofounder of Public House Group
