Brexit: the death of the booze cruise?

Denmark—like other Northern European countries—has high excise duties on alcohol in an attempt to reduce heavy drinking and alcohol abuse. There are good public policy reasons for this—the dangers of foetal alcohol syndrome, the health costs to individuals of alcohol and the social and economic costs in terms of alcohol-related crime. The problem is that the Danish taxes were lower than in Sweden. As a consequence, Swedes poured into Copenhagen over the Öresund Bridge to take advantage of the lower prices. A kind of hedonic arbitrage.

This is something Brits are well aware of too. While the taxes on our booze are not as high as in Scandinavian nations—despite the best efforts of the SNP Scottish Government to impose a minimum price on alcohol—they are still far higher than in our near neighbour France. Hence our love of the “booze cruise.” This has gone through many mutations—surviving even the abolition of duty-free for those travelling with the European Union. The secret to its endurance is the strength of its appeal—it is cheaper to get guttered in France than in Britain.

And with the introduction of the HMRC guidance that the limit on what can be permissibly brought back from mainland Europe is what can be deemed to be for personal use, it can also be cheaper to get slaughtered back home too. This is a loophole that a Transit van can be driven through—and regularly is. There are, one suspects, pubs in the north which are supplied solely by smuggled booze and fags. Many Brits accept this kind of thing, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, alcohol is a simple, inexpensive and self-administered form of social control. Second, there are few rights guarded more fiercely than the British right to get drunk—hence smugglers are romantic heroes, the excise man a villain. Think of the Robert Burns song “The De'il's Awa wi' th' Exciseman”:

And mony braw thanks to the Merkel black deil, 

That danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman. 

...

There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, 

There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man, 

But the ae best dance ere came to the land 

Was-the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.' 

No chance of Prohibition in Britain. But now our great cultural tradition is under threat. Brexit means Brexit is a (politically useful) empty tautology—except in the case of the inalienable British right to get wasted. Here, it is a real and present danger. Why? Because leaving a customs union means the reimposition of customs limits on imports. What would that mean? Let's look at the country the Brexiteers love so much—Australia. What do they allow travellers to bring into the country? Fifty cigarettes and 2.5 litres of wine—that's two and a half packs of the former and less than four bottles of the latter.

And don't tell me that we will have generous duty-free allowances in Brexit Britain. The government is bent on cutting taxes for corporations—not to get them to come here, but in desperation to keep them here. That tax has to come from somewhere, and your case of French wine, whether Vin de Pays or a magnificent Cuvée from the Wine Society in Montreuil, is going to cost more.

Why am I so sure? On the one hand, I understand how the Treasury thinks—and they will be looking for a balancing tax rise. On the other, I know how you think—you need that booze. Something has to give.

There's the rub: the government is betting that you will give up your booze cruise to back Brexit.

But do they really understand Britain? Brexit may indeed mean Brexit but if it also means Crexit—an end to booze cruises—which will actually go? Cheap drink for Brits or Brexit itself? Like GK Chesterton, the government will probably give in:

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,

The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.

A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,

...

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,

And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;

But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed

To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made