A man from Stowmarket has become the first person in Suffolk to require formal lending approval before saying the words, “Same again?” after a new UK alcohol duty calculator suggested his usual Friday pub round now counts as a medium-sized infrastructure project.
By Our Consumer Correspondent: Colin Allcabs
Accountant-by-day and increasingly nervous pint-buyer-by-night, 41-year-old Darren Plumb had intended to celebrate the end of the working week with five friends at The Soggy Badger. But after entering lager, cider, pale ale, stout, a gin and tonic, two packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps and “whatever Keith is having” into the Government’s revamped calculator, Mr Plumb was reportedly offered a repayment plan, a free pen and an appointment with a mortgage adviser.
“I only wanted to know whether the price had gone up,” said Mr Plumb, staring into a half of something Belgian he no longer recognised. “The calculator asked whether I had considered consolidating my existing debts. Then it asked if the round was for a wedding.”
The new UK alcohol duty calculator means man must take out loan to buy Friday pub round, according to a completely serious report prepared by a bloke called Clive near the fruit machine.
Calculator puts a price on friendship
The online tool is designed to help the public understand how alcohol duty applies to different drinks. In theory, this sounds useful. In practice, it has left thousands of British drinkers wondering why a pint of 4.6 per cent IPA now appears to have its own pension scheme.
Mr Plumb said the evening started normally enough. His friends had gathered in their customary corner beneath a framed photograph of Ipswich Town winning something several decades ago. There was talk of the weather, a suspiciously expensive kitchen extension and whether a man in Bury St Edmunds had really bought a hot tub for his dachshund.
Then came the fateful phrase: “Daz, you getting these in?”
Within minutes, the group’s drinks order had become a fiscal event. Simon wanted an unfiltered craft lager “with notes of grapefruit and rent arrears”. Keith ordered a double rum and Coke, despite having earlier announced he was “cutting back”. Martin requested a low-alcohol beer, which cost only 14p less but came with the emotional texture of damp cardboard. Julie sensibly asked for a large sauvignon blanc, then moved away from the bar before anyone could look at her.
“It got to £47.80 and I genuinely thought the card machine had added a patio,” Mr Plumb said. “The barman turned the screen round and it had asked for a gratuity. I nearly gave it the deeds to my Vauxhall.”
The loan was approved in principle
A spokesman for East Anglian Mutual Finance, who was not expecting to be part of the story, confirmed that Mr Plumb had enquired about a short-term Friday facility.
“He was very clear about the purpose of the borrowing,” said branch manager Paula Wrench. “He said he had made eye contact with the group and could no longer retreat without losing the moral authority of a man who once paid for Nobby’s birthday shots in 2019.”
The proposed loan would cover six drinks, bar snacks, a contingency fund for someone saying “go on then” after the bell, and a small emergency reserve in case the group decided they deserved espresso martinis for reasons nobody could adequately explain.
Ms Wrench added that the bank had requested security. Mr Plumb initially offered his folding camping chair, but the application is now understood to be backed by a collection of mint-condition Suffolk Brewery promotional pint glasses and an unopened air fryer.
Publicans urge customers not to panic, unless ordering doubles
Landlords across the county have moved to reassure customers that not every visit to the pub requires a financial adviser. Many, however, admitted the margin between “pleasant evening out” and “brief conversation with a debt charity” had become alarmingly narrow.
At The Soggy Badger, landlord Trevor Knott has installed a small brass plaque at the bar reading: PLEASE CHECK YOUR AVAILABLE BALANCE BEFORE VOLUNTEERING FOR THE ROUND.
“It is not that prices are outrageous,” said Mr Knott, using the careful tone of a man who knows exactly what a pint costs. “It is that people arrive with the purchasing power of 2008 and the drink preferences of a hedge-fund manager who has just discovered orange wine.”
He said traditional pub economics had also been complicated by the modern customer. “You used to have bitter, lager, cider, gin, and the occasional sherry for someone’s aunt. Now they want a small-batch peach sour served in a glass shaped like a chemistry accident. Then they say, ‘Blimey, how much?’ as if I priced it while hiding behind a curtain.”
Mr Knott has begun offering a new service called RoundSense, under which customers can nominate one friend to remain sober enough to calculate the bill without crying. Early trials have been encouraging, although one participant fled through the beer garden after learning that three pints, two proseccos and a bowl of olives came to more than his first car.
Economists blame strength, size and Keith
Experts say alcohol duty is more complicated than the average Friday drinker would like, which is usually not complicated at all. The amount can vary according to a drink’s strength and type, while pub prices also reflect costs such as staffing, energy, rent, ingredients and the permanently mysterious sum charged for a tiny bottle of tonic water.
Professor Colin Fenn of the University of Nowhere Near Colchester said people often blame duty for the entire bill because it is easier than confronting their own role in ordering seven premium drinks and a sharing board “for the table”.
“There is an unavoidable psychological phenomenon,” he explained. “A person sees a £6.40 pint and feels betrayed by the state. The same person will then buy a £9.50 cocktail called The Tipsy Badger, containing edible glitter and a small washing line, because it is ‘only one’.”
Professor Fenn said it depends heavily on where and what people drink. A quiet couple having a pint in a village local will face a different total from a ten-person office group in a town-centre bar where every beverage has been infused with hibiscus, smoke or the vague memory of a forest.
“Still, Mr Plumb’s case is an important warning,” he said. “Never offer to get the first round if your mates treat a drinks menu like a lifestyle catalogue.”
Friends defend their orders
The men and women present at The Soggy Badger have rejected claims that they took advantage of Mr Plumb’s generosity.
Keith said his double rum and Coke was medically necessary because it had been “a long week”. Asked what made the week particularly long, he said Monday had been “a bit Monday-ish”.
Simon defended his craft lager on the grounds that it was brewed within 40 miles of a wind turbine. “You cannot put a price on supporting local producers,” he said, before declining to say whether he would pay for the next round.
Julie, who later transferred exactly £6.00 towards a bill containing a large glass of wine and a portion of halloumi fries, said the group was “fully behind Darren” and hoped he would soon be back on his feet financially.
Their support took the form of a WhatsApp message featuring three prayer-hand emojis, followed by a poll asking whether everyone fancied a roast on Sunday.
A sensible plan for the next Friday
By 10.15pm, Mr Plumb had reached an agreement with the bank, the bar and his own rapidly weakening sense of self-respect. He paid for the round using a combination of debit card, reward points and a £12 note found in the glove compartment, then announced he would be switching to tap water.
This declaration lasted nine minutes. Someone ordered sambucas.
For anyone feeling the pinch, the practical advice is painfully simple: check prices before offering, agree whether people are paying their share, and never accept “I’ll get you next time” from a mate whose last known act of generosity was bringing one multipack of crisps to a barbecue in 2016.
Mr Plumb has now set up a standing order called Friday Survival and intends to carry a pocket calculator to the pub. “I will still buy a round,” he insisted. “I am British. I have dignity. I just need to see whether Nationwide will let me remortgage it first.”
You couldn’t make it up. Except, obviously, we just did.