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Reeves’ pubs U-turn: how business rates sparked a revolt, and why ministers are now under fire

Reeves’ pubs U-turn: how business rates sparked a revolt, and why ministers are now under fire

15 January 2026

Paul Francis

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Rachel Reeves is preparing a U-turn on business rates for pubs after an unusually public backlash from landlords, trade bodies, and even some Labour MPs. In recent days, pubs across the country have reportedly refused service to, or outright barred, Labour MPs in protest, turning a technical tax change into a political flashpoint about competence, consultation, and whether the government understood its own numbers.


Two pints of frothy beer on a wooden ledge, reflecting on a window. Warm, dim lighting creates a cozy atmosphere.

The row centres on business rates, the property-based tax paid on most non-domestic premises. For pubs, it is often one of the highest fixed costs after staffing and energy. And while the government has argued its reforms were meant to make the system fairer for high street businesses, many publicans say the real world impact is the opposite: higher bills arriving at the same time as wage costs and other overheads are already rising.


What changed and why pubs reacted so fiercely

The immediate trigger was the November Budget package, which set out changes tied to the 2026 business rates revaluation and the planned move away from pandemic era relief. As the details landed, hospitality groups warned that many pubs would be hit by sharp rises because their rateable values, the Valuation Office Agency’s estimate of a property’s annual rental value, had increased significantly at revaluation.


A Reuters report published on 8 January 2026 described the government preparing measures to “soften the impact” of the planned hike after industry warnings that closures would follow. It also noted trade body concerns about elevated rateable values and warned that thousands of smaller pubs could face a bill for the first time.


The anger quickly became visible. ITV News reported on pub owners in Dorset who began banning Labour MPs after the Budget, with the campaign spreading as other pubs joined in.   LabourList also reported that more than 1,000 pubs had banned Labour MPs from their premises in protest.   Sky News similarly reported that pubs had been banning Labour MPs over the rises due to begin in April.


How business rates are actually calculated, with pub-friendly examples

Business rates can sound opaque, but the calculation is straightforward in principle:

Business rates bill = Rateable value x Multiplier, minus any reliefs


Where it became combustible for pubs is that multiple moving parts changed at once: revaluation shifted rateable values, multipliers were adjusted for different sectors, and pandemic era relief was being reduced or removed.


The government’s own Budget factsheet includes worked examples that show why bills can jump even when headline multipliers look lower.


Example 1: a pub whose rateable value rises modestly: In 2025/26, a pub with a £30,000 rateable value used a multiplier of 49.9p and then deducted 40% retail, hospitality and leisure relief. The factsheet sets out the steps: £30,000 x 0.499 = £14,970, then 40% relief reduces that to a final bill of £8,982. After revaluation, the rateable value rises to £39,000. The pub qualifies for a lower small business multiplier of 38.2p, so before reliefs: £39,000 x 0.382 = £14,898. Transitional support caps the increase, resulting in a final bill of £10,329.

Even here, the bill rises. The cap stops it from rising as sharply as it otherwise would, but it still climbs.


Example 2: a pub whose rateable value more than doubles: In the most politically explosive scenario, the factsheet describes a pub whose rateable value rises from £50,000 to £110,000 at revaluation. In 2025/26, the bill is calculated as £50,000 x 0.499 = £24,950, then reduced by 40% relief to £14,970. In 2026/27, before any relief, the bill would be £110,000 x 0.43 = £47,300. Transitional support then caps the increase, producing a final bill of £19,461.

That is still a meaningful jump in a single year, even with protections. For pubs operating on thin margins, that scale of increase can mean the difference between staying open and closing.


This is why so many publicans argue that the political messaging did not match the lived reality. They were told reforms would support the high street, then saw calculations that delivered higher costs.


What Reeves is now doing to correct it

The government has not published the full final package yet, but multiple reports describe a targeted climbdown.


Reuters reported that a support package would be outlined in the coming days and that it would include measures addressing business rates, alongside licensing and deregulation.   LabourList reported that Treasury officials were expected to reduce the percentage of a pub’s rateable value used to calculate business rates and introduce a transitional relief fund.   The Independent reported ministers briefing that Reeves was expected to extend some form of relief rather than scrap support entirely from April, after pressure from Labour MPs and the sector.


In practical terms, “softening” the rise can be done in a few ways:

  • Increasing or extending pub-specific relief so bills do not jump as sharply in April 2026

  • Adjusting the multiplier applied to pubs within the retail, hospitality and leisure category

  • Strengthening transitional relief so the cap on year to year increases is tighter

  • Supplementary measures like licensing changes, to reduce other cost pressures


The direction of travel is clear: the Treasury is trying to stop the revaluation shock from landing all at once on pubs.


The critics’ argument: ministers did not do their homework

The most damaging strand of this story is not the U turn itself, but the allegation that ministers did not understand the impact at the point of announcement.


Sky News has reported internal disquiet about the business rates increase, reflecting wider unease about the political cost of the policy.   ITV has also reported pub owners arguing that the “devil is in the detail,” a polite way of saying the announcement did not match the numbers that followed.


Most seriously, reporting summarised from The Times states that Business Secretary Peter Kyle acknowledged ministers did not have key details about the revaluation’s effects on hospitality at the time of the November Budget, and that the property specific revaluations created an unexpected burden for some pubs.


That admission fuels the criticism that this was not simply a policy misfire, but a failure of preparation. The core accusation from critics is straightforward: if the government is reshaping a tax system built on property values, then the people in charge should have had a clear grasp of what the valuation changes would do to real businesses. If they did not, they were not doing the job properly.


Even if ministers argue the valuation process is independent, the political reality is that pubs heard one message, then saw another outcome. The result has been a crisis of trust that a late rescue package may soften, but not erase.


What this episode tells us about tax policy and trust

Pubs are not just businesses. They are community anchors and cultural institutions, which is why this backlash travelled so quickly from accountancy jargon to front-page politics.

Reeves’ U turn may yet prevent the worst outcomes for some pubs. But the episode has exposed a deeper vulnerability: when the government announces complex reforms without convincing evidence, it understands the knock on effects, and the backlash is not only economic. It becomes personal, symbolic, and politically contagious.


If the Treasury wants to draw a line under this, it will need to do more than patch the numbers. It will need to convince the public and the businesses affected that decisions are being made with full visibility of the consequences, not discovered after the revolt begins.

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The Curious World of Competitive Niche Hobbies

  • Writer: Paul Francis
    Paul Francis
  • Jul 24, 2025
  • 4 min read

There are people who train ferrets to run through drainpipes, others who iron shirts on mountain tops, and at least one society in Cumbria dedicated to racing wheelbarrows in full Edwardian dress.

People tumble down a grassy hill in a race, watched by a large, excited crowd behind orange fencing. The scene is lively and chaotic.
Cheese Rolling image by ninjawil on Flickr

Britain has long had a reputation for eccentric pastimes, but many of these niche hobbies are far more serious, and far more competitive, than they first appear.


From toe wrestling to conker championships, welcome to the quietly intense world of niche hobby competitions, where pride, planning, and decades-old rivalries are very much in play.


From Oddity to Obsession

What might look like a bit of harmless fun at the village fête often hides a fierce undercurrent of strategy and commitment.


Take the World Toe Wrestling Championships, held each summer in Derbyshire. Established in 1976, the sport involves two barefoot opponents locking toes and trying to pin each other’s foot down. Matches are officiated. Spectators gather. There are title holders. Training is involved.

Trophies and a foot sculpture on a round wooden table. Green curtains and a brick wall in the background. Bright, celebratory mood.
A collection of Toe Wrestling Trophies, image from Wiki Commons

Then there is the World Pea Shooting Championship, hosted annually in Witcham, Cambridgeshire. Competitors use laser-guided blowpipes to shoot dried peas at a target board. The record to beat is three perfect shots. The youngest entrant on record was just four years old. The oldest? In his nineties.


“It looks silly from the outside, but there’s real skill involved,” says Norman Hartley, who has competed in the event since 1994. “You have to factor in wind speed, moisture in the peas, and keep your aim steady. It’s not just puff and pray.”

It’s almost like being in on a joke the rest of the world hasn’t clocked yet. But you also get quite good at it.

Why We Love the Weird

Sociologists suggest that niche hobbies, especially competitive ones, satisfy a deep need for identity, ritual, and community. In a world that often feels chaotic, small traditions offer structure and shared purpose.


“There’s something very human about inventing a new way to compete,” says Dr Elaine Keating, a behavioural psychologist at Leeds Beckett University. “Niche hobbies often start as a joke or tradition, but over time they become a point of pride. And when you’re the best in the world at something — even if it’s underwater knitting — that title still means something.”


In many cases, these hobbies have decades of history. Some, like cheese rolling at Cooper’s Hill in Gloucestershire, have origins dating back to pagan festivals. Others were started on a whim and simply stuck. The Extreme Ironing Bureau, founded in Leicester in 1997, was initially a satirical art piece. It soon developed a following, with people ironing in forests, on mountains, and mid-skydiving jumps.


Even new hobbies are finding their moment. The rise of social media has introduced global audiences to competitions such as spoon balancing, speed cubing, competitive duck herding, and air guitar battles, all of which now boast global events, livestreams, and sponsorship deals.


A Bit of Britishness

Many of these hobbies reflect something quietly British: a love of the underdog, the eccentric, and the proudly impractical.


The World Stone Skimming Championships, held on Easdale Island in Scotland, welcomes competitors from around the world each September. To qualify, the stone must skip at least twice across the water. Skimming experts bring specially chosen slate discs, sometimes wrapped in chamois leather for grip. Officials measure every bounce with tape and telescope.


The British Lawnmower Racing Association, meanwhile, oversees dozens of events each year, including endurance races. Competitors remove the cutting blades, kit themselves out in protective gear, and race around muddy fields at speeds of up to 50 mph.

The prize? Usually a trophy, sometimes a pint, always bragging rights.


What Drives People?

One constant across these competitions is a strong sense of belonging.


You come for the novelty, but you stay for the people,” says Kat McGill, a champion in the UK Rock Paper Scissors League. “There’s a shared absurdity. It’s almost like being in on a joke the rest of the world hasn’t clocked yet. But you also get quite good at it, and then you want to win.”


Many hobbyists also point out that these events are deeply inclusive. Unlike mainstream sports, niche competitions often level the playing field, allowing people of all ages and backgrounds to take part. In many cases, newcomers are welcomed with open arms and a set of surprisingly detailed rules.


More Than a Laugh

It is easy to dismiss niche hobbyists as eccentric or unserious. But to those who compete, these events are more than a weekend lark.


They are social lifelines, creative outlets, or reminders that joy can be found in the unlikeliest of places. In an era dominated by screens and scrolling, getting together for a bog snorkelling championship or a black pudding toss is, perhaps, more important than it sounds.


And as long as there are people willing to balance eggs, race snails, or build tiny vegetable cars, the spirit of niche British competitiveness is likely to keep rolling.

Quite literally, in the case of the cheese.


Would you like image suggestions for this piece as well, or perhaps a list of real UK events or locations readers could visit if they wanted to experience these hobbies in person?

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