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Phil Mellows is a freelance
 journalist living in Brighton  


Look out for my new book Beer Breaks in Britain, co-authored with travel writer Kate Simon and published by Bloomsbury, in bookshops from February 2025 or order online now here.


         
         The politics of drinking

            
April 17, 2025


 

 

Pubs in the wake of war
From Beer magazine

10 million years of drinking
Alcohol and humans

Beyond the dry month
Interview with Richard Piper, the new head of Alcool Concern

The Carlisle Experiment
100 years since they nationalised
pubs. 

The science of temperance
The story of the Institute of Alcohol Studies

More grey areas than a late Rothko
Off licence bans on superstrength beers

A figure that doesn't add up
The story behind the £21bn
cost of alcohol harm

The Beer Orders
... not just history

Learning from a dry society
Interview with Redemption Bar's Catherine Salway

More Published Work


The melancholy underbelly of the ready smile

This article first appeared in the Propel Info newsletter on June 16, 2023

A friend of mine recently opened a creperie. She’s working long, hard hours getting the new business off the ground but, as Meatloaf sang, there’s something she won’t do for that – in her case, stand behind the counter. “I just can’t smile the whole time,” she says, terrified that with the first, “cheer up love, it might never happen” she’ll reply, “it just did – you came in,” bringing a promising small enterprise crashing to the ground. So, she’ll stick to the prep and the books back-of-house.

My friend is not an unusually grumpy person, but hospitality makes high demands of customer-facing staff. Whether they’re popping in for a galette (my friend’s speciality) or ordering a pint at the bar, people expect the person serving them to exhibit unblemished contentment. As any good operator knows, the first thing you look for in a potential recruit is a ready smile.

There may be exceptions. Publican Norman Balon built a career on being rude to customers who ventured into the Coach & Horses in London’s Soho. But there must have been mornings when even he woke up, threw the curtains wide on a sunshiny day and was brimmed with bonhomie. Before he was ready to open the pub doors, he would have to drag down his mood and put on a miserable face.

For most bar staff, though, it’s the opposite. The cheeriest person, someone who genuinely likes making people happy, must have days when they don’t feel like it. When perhaps something has happened to make them sad or worried. That would be life. But we expect them to brush that aside and bring out that smile and do it again and again, shift after shift.

Years ago, I was invited to sample some new training a bar operator had introduced to help its staff overcome those times when the smile struggles to surface. I found myself in a one-to-one session with a professional actor who had previously played a character in Emmerdale and would go on to take some fairly good roles in films.

He explained how actors face a similar challenge to bar staff, having to perform to the same level night after night in the theatre as though they’re doing it for the first time – as they are, as far as the audience is concerned. I was told to imagine I had a well of energy within me, and with each acting exercise I would have to drop an imaginary bucket into the well to draw up the necessary energy, going deeper and deeper each time.

What a palaver. Yet bar staff often do compare their job to stepping on to a stage and performing for an audience. They draw their energy from the positive reactions of their customers, from making them happy. Which makes them happy, too. It’s a virtuous smiling circle, but what if the circle breaks?

I did a case study for the Licensed Trade Charity (LTC), interviewing a woman who was once the star of the show at the pub where she worked. Everyone loved her. She made them laugh, she made them feel good. But as time went on, anxiety set in. As the next shift approached, she would worry that this time she may not be up to it. The smile might not be ready and the whole illusion would collapse.

A drink helped ease the worry and encourage the smile. Then a few drinks. Before long, she could only perform drunk. Her problem started to consume her. Fortunately, the LTC was there to help her get her life back, but she was clearly not fully recovered when we met. I hope she’s okay now.

Anyway, the good thing is there’s a growing awareness of these pressures on hospitality workers. The young people who work behind bars now are less reluctant to talk about their mental health, and there is open discussion about the challenges. Beer writer Emma Inch has a podcast series that will delve into mental health in the brewing and pub industries, while Stephanie Shuttleworth, an experienced bar worker based in Manchester, is researching a psychology PhD that goes very deep into these matters. 

I’ve had only a glimpse, but part of it is about how social support, feeling part of a team, can ease the stresses faced by hospitality staff – but that can bring other pressures from managers. Personally, I think that being in a trade union can be crucial in providing support independent of management, and I’m pleased to see progress in unionising the sector. Until that glorious day, though, it’s down to operators to appreciate the business benefits of being aware of the melancholy underbelly that might lie beneath the ready smile.

Phil Mellows, June 16, 2023


Previously:

The melancholy underbelly of the ready smile

Sit down, shut up

How brewery taprooms have changed the way we drink

Whatever happened to the J-shaped curve?

No beef, but….   

Folk devils and nitrous oxide


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