Firkin Story
Lessons learned by a millionaire
By David Bruce OBE, founder of the Firkin pubs and brewery, and author of ‘The Firkin Saga: Brewing up entrepreneurial adventures and pioneering tales with the Prince of Ales’
In July 1979, I opened the Goose & Firkin – London’s first pub in over a century to brew its own beer. Many said it would fail immediately – the financial advisor who’d seen my business plan scrawled across it: “This project has absolutely no chance of succeeding and I suggest you abandon it immediately.” Yet, nine years later I sold the Firkin chain for £6.6 million.
The journey from unemployed-and-unemployable to millionaire entrepreneur wasn’t exactly what you’d call strategic planning – but the lessons picked up along the way are useful for anyone thinking about running their own business.
I was on the dole, having vowed never to work for another boss again after years of dealing with what I can only describe as complete wallies. I’d taken up running through London’s streets, and on one run I spotted a boarded-up wreck of a pub.
The place was a disaster with water dripping through the roof, broken furniture everywhere, and a rat skeleton in an old food cabinet. But I had what I can only call a moment of divine inspiration: why not brew my own beer right here?
It was so unprecedented that none of the licensing authorities knew what to do with me – which felt exciting rather than terrifying. Sometimes being a pioneer means the bureaucrats haven’t figured out how to stop you yet.
Lesson: The best opportunities often look like disasters to everyone else. If something looks obvious, someone else has probably already done it.
Having nothing to lose doesn’t work
There was the small matter of having absolutely no money. So, I did what any wildly optimistic entrepreneur does: I bet the house. Literally. A second mortgage provided half of what was needed and I managed to borrow the rest through free trade loans at 5% from Charrington’s and Shepherd Neame, secured against promises to sell their lagers and spirits.
Having skin in the game certainly focuses the mind – especially when everyone’s predicting you’ll fail spectacularly.
Lesson (and a brutal truth): If you’re not prepared to risk something that matters to you, you’re probably not ready to be an entrepreneur. Comfortable people rarely create uncomfortable solutions to problems.
The honky-tonk piano, the church pews we’d bought from junk shops, the awful puns – it was all completely intuitive. And that ramshackle, shoestring aesthetic somehow became our brand. Even the food offer was basic but delicious: “Fill that gap with a Firkin bap!” When customers had to help collect glasses and serve behind the bar because we were so busy, it became part of the charm rather than a problem.
CAMRA (the Campaign for Real Ale) complained we were “too crowded, too noisy and too expensive,”—I hadn’t known what to charge, so I’d whizzed around London’s most expensive pubs and decided to charge 5p more than the priciest beer I could find—but the punters kept coming.
We’d accidentally created something people had been waiting for without knowing it.
Lesson: You don’t need to spend a fortune on design and brand consultants. Authenticity beats strategy every time. Our “professional standard of amateurism,” as one brewing industry director called it, was worth more than any slick corporate identity.
Scaling without losing the magic
Once the Goose was a roaring success, I spotted another failed pub in Lewisham – a boarded-up former venue for punch-ups and strippers. And this is where the Firkin formula really began to take shape. Each pub had its own character but shared the same sense of infectious fun. The Fox & Firkin with its “For Fox sake buy me a Firkin pint!” slogan, the Pheasant & Firkin where customers had to announce they were “a Firkin pheasant plucker” to get their free pint.
The puns got progressively worse, but people loved them. We put the slogans on T-shirts and car stickers, and punters started buying them and spreading the Firkin brand around the world – from Santiago to Svalbard. Almost by accident, we’d ended up creating one of the first pub fan clubs—the Firkin Club—complete with membership cards and newsletters, all well before computers, emails etc.
Food, drink, music, ambience – everything had to be genuinely good. We looked after our staff, rewarded loyalty, and I personally visited every pub regularly day, night and weekends to ensure the culture was right.
Lesson: Maintain quality while having fun. Your fun may not include awful puns, but whatever your fun is, nurture it as your business grows.
It wasn’t always smooth sailing and sometimes the most perfect plan ends up in near-disaster. Our Bristol pub nearly killed the whole empire. A gorgeous Grade II-listed building seemed perfect, and the Fleece & Firkin looked the part, had the same formula, and we even had live sheep at the opening ceremony in the Public Baa.
But it never took off. Londoners would spend serious money in pubs; Bristol customers seemed content to nurse a half pint all evening. Finding good managers was difficult and supervising the brand culture from London was impossible. It was haemorrhaging cash.
Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to set up each pub as a separate company. Everyone thought I was being paranoid, but it saved the day when things went wrong.
The separate company structure meant Bristol’s losses couldn’t bring down the profitable London pubs, but it was still a painful lesson. Sometimes local knowledge matters more than a brilliant formula.
Lesson: Don’t assume what works in one market will work everywhere. And for God’s sake, separate your risks – don’t let one bad decision destroy everything you’ve built.
By 1982, we had brilliant turnover, thousands of loyal customers, and every pub was rammed full – yet we were apparently on the verge of going bust. I was so focused on creating great pubs that I’d completely ignored the finances. It took the accountants at Touche Ross to point out that high sales don’t automatically mean profit, and we were massively undercapitalised.
I’m embarrassed to admit I was shocked when they told me we were losing money and needed a professional finance director and detailed financial controls. I’d assumed great success would naturally turn into great profits. Having failed maths O-level five times, it was clear that I wasn’t the ideal candidate, so we hired a finance director and gained control of our cashflow.
Lesson: Know your numbers or know someone who does. Entrepreneurs who hate numbers need to find people who love them. Your passion for the product won’t save you if you can’t read a Profit & Loss Account and a Balance Sheet. Hire people who are better than you at the things you’re rubbish at – and listen to them.
By the mid-1980s, I was opening three pubs a year and the bank was getting increasingly nervous about debt levels. I could see changes coming – the big brewers were going to be forced to sell a majority of their tied houses, creating chaos in the sector.
When I was stuck in traffic on the M4 one morning, contemplating another week of meetings with lawyers, accountants, stockbrokers and union officials, I phoned Barry Gillham, Chairman of Fleurets, the Licensed Property Valuers, and he said: “Sounds like you want to get off the merry-go-round. Why don’t you call it a day and let me sell your Firkin pubs?”
We created a pros and cons list, and the pros of selling massively outweighed the cons. The die was cast.
Lesson: The hardest entrepreneurial decision is often knowing when to exit. We sold at exactly the right time. The Firkin concept eventually spread to 200 pubs across the country, but by then it had lost the magic and burned out.
Advice for today’s entrepreneurs
Start with what you’ve got, not what you think you need. Our constraints forced creativity that unlimited resources never could have achieved.
Make it personal in an impersonal world. People don’t just buy products; people buy experiences, stories, and emotions. Corporate chains can copy your business model, but they can’t copy your personality.
Have some fun with it. If you’re not enjoying building your business, why should customers enjoy experiencing it? Our infectious enthusiasm was worth more than any marketing budget.
Risk something that matters. Comfortable people with nothing to lose rarely create anything worth having. Put some skin in the game.
Most importantly, remember that entrepreneurship isn’t about having a perfect plan. It’s about spotting opportunities, having a go, and adapting as you learn. Sometimes the best businesses come from the most unlikely places.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Bruce OBE hasenjoyed an extraordinary career as both an international entrepreneur and a philanthropist. After his early days in the world of beer at Courage and Theakston breweries, David struck out on his own, founding the eponymous Bruce’s Brewery and the first of its Firkin pubs in 1979. Following their sale in 1988, David not only co-founded and invested in several craft breweries across the globe, but also eleven new pub companies in the UK, as well as developing the Slug & Lettuce chain of bars. He also created The Bruce Trust and The Bruce Foundation to provide respectively canal and motorhome holidays for disabled, disadvantaged, or elderly. David was awarded an OBE in 2021 for his services to charity. His memoir, ‘The Firkin Saga: Brewing up entrepreneurial adventures and pioneering tales with the Prince of Ales’ is available from Amazon and all good bookshops. www.david-bruce.com
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