OPINION – WHO IS PISSED OFF AT THE PRICE OF BOOZE AT MUSIC FESTIVALS AND GIGS? COS’ I AM.

I’ve been in one of those moods today, that twitchy, ranty Rachel Brown mood, staring out of my window at my desk, thinking, you know what really gets on my tits? The price of booze at gigs and festivals. I mean, I rarely drink much anymore, thank god, but when I do, I’m literally peeling my gob off the floor at the sheer audacity of some of these prices.

And I know it’s not just me. The majority of the UK is absolutely fuming about it. Every summer, every awards season, it’s the same old nonsense, you fork out for the tickets, battle the queues, the weather, the mud, the crush… and then get absolutely rinsed for a lukewarm pint or a sad little bottle of something that costs more than a whole crate from Tesco.

It’s daylight robbery with a wristband.

Pretty much every festival-goer and gig attendee from Land’s End to John o’Groats feels it. Glastonbury 2025 had folk in full meltdown over pints of Brooklyn Pilsner or Brothers cider at £6.95, Stonewall Inn IPA at £7.20, a glass of wine hitting £7.95 or a whole bottle for £32 if you really wanted to push the boat out. Social media was rammed with “absolutely disgusting”, “robbed blind” and “I’d need a bank loan just to get pissed proper”. Reading and Leeds weren’t much kinder, pints from £6.75, spirits and mixers £8 to £8.50, ready-to-drink cans pushing £9. Download had similar grief with pints around £6.90–£7.30 and singles at £8.50. Parklife was chucking gin tins out at £9.50. And it’s not just the muddy fields, indoor venues are just as bad, if not worse.

Take the MOBO Awards when they landed in Manchester at the Co-op Live arena. I went and got hit with £9 for a Smirnoff Ice. Nine quid! For a bloody Smirnoff Ice! That tracks dead on with what everyone’s been saying about the place. Reports from Co-op Live show pints hitting £8.95 to £9.50, cans and bottles around £8–£9.10 for stuff like Smirnoff Ice, and doubles or mixes clearing a tenner easy. One round and you’re looking at daylight robbery, especially when you’re there for the vibes, the music, the culture, not to remortgage your house for a drink. Proper savage that you’re meant to be celebrating, not calculating how many more you can afford before your card cries.

These aren’t your local Wetherspoons where you can nurse a pint for under a fiver. Festivals and arenas are temporary setups or one-off madness with massive costs, security, staff, power, waste, insurance, all through the roof since the pandemic. Vendors pay through the nose to get in, and they’ve got a tiny window to make their brass back. Once you’re inside, you’re a captive audience. No nipping out to the offy, and most places clamp down hard on bringing your own. They know they’ve got you.

Inflation hasn’t helped one bit. Everything’s gone up, and organisers say it’s just the reality of putting on big events these days. Punters call it greed, pure and simple. Because it is, not only are we paying over the odds for tickets (don’t get me started on dynamic pricing), but they’ve got your pants down the minute you’re in there, too. When you’re standing in the rain at Glasto or sweating in a packed Co-op Live clutching an empty wallet, their excuses don’t land. They just sound like bollocks.

Let’s take a look at the so‑called counter‑arguments, because apparently, there are reasons we’re being charged the price of a small family hatchback for a pint. Festival organisers love to tell us it costs a fortune to run these events, stages, security, insurance, all that jazz. Fair enough. But it’s funny how the solution is always our wallets getting battered, never the VIP bar or the corporate sponsors. Convenient, isn’t it?

Then there’s the classic “we’re basically building a temporary city” line. Right, mate, a temporary city with no plumbing, no shade, and a bar queue that moves slower than a pensioner on a mobility scooter. If you’re going to call it a city, at least give us something that resembles public services, not a £9 Smirnoff Ice and a puddle.

They’ll also tell you that staff wages and logistics are expensive. And sure, pay your staff properly, absolutely. But don’t pretend my £8.95 pint is single‑handedly funding the NHS. Someone’s making a tidy profit here, and it’s definitely not the poor sod pouring my lukewarm lager into a cup thinner than a Rizla.

And of course, the patronising favourite, high prices, stop people getting too drunk. Ah, yes, the “we’re rinsing you for your own good” defence. Because nothing promotes responsible drinking like forcing everyone to neck half a bottle of Aldi vodka in the car park before entry.

Finally, the convenience argument. Apparently, we’re paying for the privilege of having a drink right there in the middle of a field. If convenience means warm booze, flimsy cups, queues that feel like a social experiment, and being trapped in a fenced‑off patch of mud with no alternative, then sure, convenient as hell.

This is where we cope the proper northern way, well, it’s not just the Northerners anymore, the posh Southerners are even at it with pre-drinks in the car park, sneaky hip flasks, or smashing a few cans in the campsite before they even hit the gates. Some festivals are stricter than others, but the ritual is sacred. The truth is, we adapt. Humans are basically feral at festivals. Give us a fence, a wristband and a bar charging £8.95 for dishwater, and we’ll immediately start scheming like we’re in a heist film. People decant spirits into sunscreen bottles, stash cans in sleeping bags, and smuggle mixers in prams. It’s not even rebellion anymore, it’s tradition. A cultural sport.

Every year, the cycle is exactly the same on Twitter, Reddit and the group chats. Tickets on sale “highway robbery!” Line-up drops “alright, maybe worth it.” Bar prices leak, or you hit the MOBO bar and clock £9 for a Smirnoff Ice “I’m bringing my own and risking the sniffer dogs.” Actual event, receipts plastered everywhere with crying emojis and “never again” vows (until next year rolls round and we’re all back like idiots).

Big events in the UK have always been a money pit. The “good old days” people bang on about probably involved warm cans of Stella and questionable kebabs anyway. But yeah, it’s got steeper lately. Ticket prices are mental, then the drinks smack you again on the way in. Co-op Live in Manchester has turned into a proper lightning rod for it, especially with big nights like the MOBOs pulling huge crowds who just want to celebrate without selling a kidney for a tin.

If you’re properly peed off like me, the options are limited. Hunt for events with slightly saner policies (good luck, they’re rarer than hen’s teeth), stick to day tickets where you can, or lean hard into the pre-load and accept the chaos. Either way, you’re in good company. From the Glastonbury fields to the Co-op Live concourse in Manchester, the entire UK’s festival and gig crowd is right there with you, muttering “this better be worth it” while handing over another tenner for what should be a fiver’s worth of booze.

What other events have wound you up properly? Glasto? Reading or Leeds? Download? Or was that Co-op arena night with the MOBOs the final straw for you an’ all? Spill the details, we’re all stuck in this overpriced pint queue together.