As an (occasional) academic, it’s good to be reminded that,
amongst the pressures to have a clear argument that distinguishes my work from
other people’s, I am able to change my mind and think again about certain
issues. On Wednesday, talking to the fascinating
Rob Hazell from Flirt café bar
in Bournemouth, I started to think afresh about alcohol and the night-time
economy in Bournemouth.
When asked about my PhD, I’ve sometimes described it as an
attempt to rehabilitate ‘binge’ drinking.
That’s not quite true, but one of the key arguments is that the ‘night-time high street’ is
hugely varied, particularly when you focus on different people out drinking
think about their own and others’ behaviour.
The idea of a monolithic ‘binge’ drinking culture is
attractive to certain parts of the media, because it allows them to run stories
that paint people’s behaviour as some sort of crisis.
However, it’s not just the media that paint this picture;
academics do it too. The work of lots of them identifies
a ‘culture
of intoxication’ and places this in the context of a liberalisation of
alcohol regulation in the UK, and the dominance of a few big companies who, in
some of the more extreme versions of this interpretation, are seen as having
‘seduced’ young people into drinking excessively.
My argument has always been that people are much more
intelligent than this, and are able to create their own meanings for different
practices and people within this apparently ‘homogenised’ landscape of
night-time drinking.
The ‘industry’ certainly knows there’s a desire for
(perceived) variety and diversity – but some academics have been quick to
describe this as only the illusion of heterogeneity.
In my PhD,
I argued that actually the apparently superficial distinctions within this
homogeneity are crucial for understanding alcohol use in Britain – whatever
your perspective or aim. If you want to
change their behaviour, it’s no good dismissing (young) drinkers as a
homogeneous group, because they won’t all respond to the same messages. (Of course, the interpretation that sees
young drinkers largely as pawns in a corporately-controlled world doesn’t think
there’s any point in talking to those possessed by false consciousness.)
Because of the way ideas like ‘diversity’ and ‘balance’ and
a ‘mixed’ night-time economy have been used, I’ve been very sceptical of
them. Bev Skeggs has a great
concept of the ‘cosmopolitan limit’ – a lot of categories, or types of
‘diversity’ are considered desirable, but some categories (or types of people)
are excluded from this. I found this
very clearly in my research, where ‘chavs’ were excluded from a specific venue
that was lauded for having a ‘mix’ of ‘different’ customers.
Similarly, when local officials talk about encouraging a
better ‘mix’ or ‘balance’ of venue types, they’re often really looking for a
different drinking style to dominate – ‘balance’ doesn’t mean a range of
venues, it means moderation and balance in one’s approach to drinking. Something completely at odds with what might
be called ‘binge’ drinking (but I would call the ‘carnivalesque’.)
That is, the idea of ‘diversity’ can be exclusionary.
So when venues trumpet the ‘diversity’ of their clientele,
I’m naturally suspicious of who might be excluded from that group.
So I was pleasantly surprised on Wednesday afternoon, when
Rob Hazell won me over. He talked about
the diversity of Flirt’s clientele, and how the bar is considered a safe space
for a whole range of people within the town.
Now, it might not have absolutely every type of person in the town, but
it does have a variety, and actually I believed it was more than a business to
Rob and co-founder Peter. The place had
evolved from genuine values and vision.
Now contrast this with 60 Million Postcards. I had chosen these two venues to talk to,
because they were picked out as examples of good practice in a 2012 report called
‘Bournemouth
by Night’ produced by Feria
Urbanism for Bournemouth
Council.
The manager from 60 Million told me that he wasn’t allowed
to participate in an interview that might lead to a publication, and that I
should get in touch with head office. To
be fair, I only sent them an email a few days ago, but I haven’t had a reply –
whereas Rob was keen, prompt and communicative when he realised he might be
late for our time slot.
As you can tell from my description of some of the academic
work on the night-time economy, I’m not terribly fond of the interpretation
that emphasises the corporate ownership behind the options available to young
people – because these analyses tend to suggest people are cultural
dupes.
However, I started to think again about this in another
moment of open-mindedness in December, when I saw Rob Hollands
(the external examiner for my PhD, incidentally, though he wasn’t effusive
about it!) at the Drinking
Dilemmas conference run by the
BSA Alcohol Study Group. I’m not
hugely keen on Rob’s vision of the ideal night-time economy, and it is just
that: a personal preference. He was
talking favourably about squats and free raves, or alternatively a (formerly)
working-class pub in Newcastle near his house, which has philosophy nights and
such, and counts amongst its clientele social workers, teachers, academics and
so on.
Personally, I find these venues and nights out cringeworthy;
I’m perfectly happy in my Palmer’s or even
Marston’s pub that hasn’t been
gentrified (sadly, most of the Hall
and Wodehouse ones around me seem to be being gentrified), and for someone
reason I find ‘philosophy in the
pub’ or ‘café scientifique’
nights somehow a bit awkward and embarrassing.
I don’t generally like the idea of cultural expertise, or
connoisseurship, or intellectualism in that sense – and I enjoy getting drunk*,
and have a suspicion that a lot of this is artifice hiding the fact that other
people like that too.
However, on this occasion, I genuinely thought again about
Rob’s vision of the ideal night-time economy.
The key point that made me think again was the issue with corporate
ownership: although the night-time economy is seen as being good for local
prosperity, most of the money spent in these venues will leave the area, and
not be spent in other local businesses.
Head office won’t be in the local area, and the managers will often be
brought in from a central pool, rather than being local residents, and so on.
When I looked at the
Mitchells and Butlers website, to get the details for how to contact head
office to see if I could talk to the manager at 60 Million, I saw the huge
range (and variety) of venue brands they own.
As well as Toby
and Crown
Carveries, O’Neill’s and All Bar One (to name just
a few) they also run the
Castle brand of pubs, described as ‘pubs with true individuality’, and the
‘Village Pub and
Kitchen’ chain – ‘a small group of pubs with an independent […er…]
spirit’. That is, they’re aiming to
attract precisely those people who try to distinguish themselves from the
‘mainstream’ of the night-time economy (arguably symbolised by venues such as
O’Neill’s and All Bar One).
Somehow, this form of ownership feeds perfectly into my
discomfort with the idea of ‘diversity’ and ‘difference’: it’s really just
another way to distinguish people from one another. And that’s not what Flirt and Rob mean by
diversity. Maybe ownership does have
something to do with it after all.
*I wrote a specific section in my PhD on how my background
might affect my views on the subject. P.153
here.
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