The shamelessness of the energy companies shows why we need a price freeze

British Gas's suggestion that households should simply use less energy is blackly humorous. But customers won't see the funny side.

Following last week’s announcement that SSE, the biggest supplier of energy to Welsh households, is to increase prices by 8.2%, yesterday came the announcement that Britain’s second biggest supplier, Centrica (AKA British Gas) is to follow suit with a 9.2% hike. Though customers will not see the funny side, the press release from British Gas, defending its decision, is a blackly humorous read. It begins with an acknowledgement that Ed Miliband is right: "the cost of living is rising faster than incomes". Then there’s a passage of hand-wringing regret that despite these tough times for customers, our bills have to go up by almost 10% to maintain their profitability. Before, finally, in a statement almost beyond parody, the company’s managing director, Ian Peters, reassures us: "A price rise doesn’t necessarily mean energy bills have to go up too. The amount you pay depends not just on the price, but on how much gas and electricity you use."
And he’s right, of course. You could just not turn on the boiler or the cooker and save a fortune. Why didn’t we think of that earlier? It would certainly make life easier for David Cameron, who, having so spectacularly failed to stand up to the energy companies in the interests of ordinary families, looks like a man who would give anything to make the problem go away.
Since I was having such fun reading the press release, I thought I’d take a look the Annual Accounts and Report for British Gas’s parent company, Centrica, to see if they were as much of a laugh. I was not disappointed.
Sam Laidlaw, the group’s chief executive, concludes his introductory remarks with the cool observation that "Centrica has a robust balance sheet and generates strong cashflows". He’s not kidding. British Gas – the bit putting up their prices today – made a post-tax profit of £1.09bn last year, up from the £1.01bn it made in 2011, though not as much as the £1.22bn it made in 2010. Within that consistent £1bn-plus profit, the sales to residential customers have been looking good too: up to £606m from the £544m posted in 2011.
The bit of the company generating the energy to sell to British Gas (i.e. itself) is called Centrica Energy, and its numbers are even better. In 2012, the energy generation arm made a post-tax profit of £1.2bn, £200m better than the year before and £500m better than 2009, the last year a Labour government was in charge. Little wonder the smiles are so broad on the faces of the board members’ pen-pictures, when share prices have risen by a third since May 2010 and top managers’ salaries with them: Mr Laidlaw’s total remuneration was almost £5m in 2012, his understrapper at British Gas making do with £3m.
What the accounts don’t tell us, of course, is the real amount it costs Centrica to generate the energy which it then sells on to British Gas at the going market rate – a market rate that itself reflects the wholesale prices set by the big six companies. It’s a circular process - in which the only real loser appears to be the paying customer at the end of the pipeline or the power cable, watching nervously as the wheel spins ever faster in the black-box under the stairs. Labour can’t stop the wheel turning, but we can freeze the price of each revolution and therefore your overall bill. And we will.
The entrance to Leicester's British Gas Centre. Photograph: Getty Images.

Owen Smith is a Labour leadership candidate and MP for Pontypridd. 

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood