Nobody likes being asked for their ID once they are over the age of 25, unless they flatter themselves that it’s because they genuinely look younger than they are. For many years, unless going abroad, I’ve simply stopped carrying ID. I’m over the age of 18, don’t carry a wallet and frequent the same pubs in Westminster sufficiently regularly that the prospect of being turned away for failing to produce a driving licence has rarely seemed worth worrying about.
Perhaps the next generation has decided that a night out is simply too expensive
But there are always some overzealous watchmen. A few weeks back, I found myself in Northallerton at a bar named The Potting Shed, where a bouncer seemed determined to establish whether I was legally entitled to drink. After some quite intensive deliberation, I managed to gain entry by proffering a hazy digital copy of my passport on my phone.
One suspects that anyone who truly looked young enough to be under 18 would have been unlikely to get away with such makeshift documentation. The ensuing rigmarole felt like a gentle reprimand for the gumption of turning up without physical ID: a chest-beating performance of authority. But, as they say, ‘rules are rules’.
The evening improved considerably as we stumbled to Club Amadeus, a nightclub self-billed as ‘the North East’s premier nightspot’. With a deafening playlist of Pitbull’s semi-recent songs and sticky carpets, the dancefloor was populated by an assortment of local youths. VKs, or ‘sticky wickets’, as I’m reliably informed they are called, were available in all their fluorescent colours, from Irn-Bru orange to the flavour simply labelled ‘Blue’. Apart from being miffed that the VKs were served in cans rather than bottles, it had all the makings of a typical provincial club night out.
For all its merits, Club Amadeus represents something that is becoming increasingly rare: the traditional British nightclub. According to the Night Time Industries Association, the number of nightclubs in operation fell from 1,240 in March 2020 to just 835 by 2024, a drop of almost a third.
The wider late-night economy has also suffered a similar contraction, with the association reporting that it remained 28.7 per cent smaller in 2026 than before the Covid-19 pandemic. There isn’t just one cause for this, but an amalgamation of rising operating costs, higher taxes and the lingering cost-of-living squeeze. All this keeps people’s hands firmly in their pockets and has made it increasingly difficult to keep venues afloat. Pubs are not faring much better, with Britain set to have lost a pub a day by the end of 2026, according to industry figures.
Energy is a considerable expense. In March, then Energy Secretary Ed Miliband launched an advice tool aimed at hospitality businesses, with the hope of easing the burden of rising costs. The tool focused on making sure electrical items, such as fridges and ovens, were switched off overnight, leaving many to assume he was encouraging pubs to serve lukewarm beer. Quite how helpful this ‘tool’ was meant to be, only the Department of Energy knows, but it is revealing of the predicament facing the sector. Businesses are consistently being squeezed – the British Beer and Pub Association found that the typical pub makes just 12p profit on every £5 pint – and the answer from government is to suggest making the product less pleasurable to consume.
There are few greater British pleasures than standing outside a pub on a freezing winter’s evening, only to retreat indoors for the air conditioning once the weather turns warmer. At my regular Westminster haunt, the Marquis of Granby, Yan, the ever-cheerful barman, is forever having to shepherd a group of us around to the front of the pub, presumably to keep us on the right side of noise restrictions. Such authoritarian rules have always appeared faintly ridiculous to me, even more so when the difference between the ‘side’ and the ‘front’ of the pub is less than five yards. Thankfully, Yan is good-humoured about the whole business, despite constant protestations.
Employment costs can be crippling for struggling venues. From April, the National Living Wage rose by 50p to £12.71 an hour for those aged 21 and over, while the rate for 18-to-20-year-olds rose by 85p to £10.85. Almost 20 per cent of all young people in work are employed in the hospitality sector, meaning disproportionate increases soon add up.
Employees aren’t just often young; they also consider bar work or waiting roles useful, flexible employment to top up their incomes or take their first steps into the labour market. Quite often, parents and students utilise zero-hours contracts to earn some helpful extra cash around busy schedules. A pub’s fortunes can change dramatically over the course of a week, or even an evening. One Friday – or, increasingly, a Thursday – might see the bar three deep; the following Tuesday, a solitary regular might nurse the same pint for an hour. Staffing for that uncertainty is therefore part of the business.
The Employment Rights Act 2025, however, requires employers to offer guaranteed hours to all qualifying workers and compensate staff for late cancellations of shifts. For an industry reliant on fluctuating foot traffic, this policy gives workers even greater security whilst hanging hospitality businesses out to dry.
Prohibitionists and those who favour a dry Britain would also point to a potential generational shift being under way. In August this year, Our Future Health, a government-funded research programme drawing on almost 1.7 million participants, found that just 12.4 per cent of 18-to-29-year-olds drink more than 14 units per week. Among those aged 60 to 69, the figure was 28.3 per cent. Perhaps the next generation has decided that a night out is simply too expensive and too much of a hassle.
No nightclub, bar or pub has the inherent right to survive, and neither should the government subsidise the nation’s consumption of fluorescent alcopops. However, there is a difference between a business failing because nobody wants its offering and one being squeezed out by a combination of rising costs, taxation and regulation.
The growth of community ownership schemes suggests that people still recognise the value of having somewhere to gather locally. CAMRA reported that there are currently 237 community-owned pubs in Britain, with a further 101 campaigns under way. No doubt a community-owned nightclub might be a harder proposition than a village pub, but the model suggests that the disappearance of local institutions is not something residents are willing to stomach, and that we’d see far fewer closures if these venues faced less state-induced pressure.
For now, Northallerton still has Club Amadeus. Next time I visit, I may even consider bringing my physical ID.
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