

Despite a culture in constant expectation of its imminent return as a fun, light, sociable tipple favoured by women, Babycham does not appear to be regaining popularity in 2025. The sparkling perry was a staple of the popular imaginations from that period in the 1970s where colour TV was a settled phenomenon through the 1980s when the masses also relaxed into the notion of wealth accumulation being the basic human sport. But it is not making a comeback.
Babycham is not making a comeback. The drink, a sort of fizzy fruit-tinged Ur alcopop redolent of those first steps into early adulthood, is available for purchase in the Asdas, Tescos, and Morrisons of this world, but is yet to make the massive inroads into Waitrose that comeback status demands. Just to repeat: Babycham is not making a comeback.
Babycham is not making a comeback. The drink, which Disney-magic-of-Christmas-like features a what appears to be female ‘baby’ deer on its oh-I’ll-just-grab-oneable label, served as a sort of free-heroin-wrapper-at-the-school-gates gateway drug into a world of mainly UK based alcoholic youthful coming out ceremonies. But it is yet to show signs of making a popular comeback.
Babycham is not making a comeback. Despite the products deft combination of green, glass, and alcohol, the public demands of stealthy drink from home and lie about your intake to friends and researchers consumption style of 2025 militate against Babycham’s markedly social dance-round-your-handbags-in-stillettos and talk face-to-face with other humans in reality drinking vibe. And so it is not making a comeback.
When reached for comment, a Babycham marketing and promotions firebrand quietly conceded that, ‘While we would maintain that Babycham continues to be a much-loved cornerstone of the UK alcoholic drinks market, we agree that Babycham is not yet at that promotional fork in the road that would indicate that we have made what could be termed a market comeback,’ all but confirming that Babycham is not making a comeback.
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Private Equity insiders admit that that running supermarkets in Britain has been way tougher than they expected. ‘The masters of the universe can usually spin straw into gold,’ said one commentator. 'But their efforts at British supermarket chains Asda and Morrisons makes them look really stupid. It’s embarrassing.’
It should have been easy. Take over a so-so supermarket chain, make a few whizzy changes, watch the valuation soar, and sell out at a massive profit. Â Bosh!
But Asda and Morrisons have languished, weighed down by the piles of debt issued by the private equity owners. Â The interest on those debts is massive, and means that neither chain can invest in stores, staff or supply chains. Â All the masters of the universe can do is to cut costs, sack staff and amp up the marketing campaigns.
The superhero private equity geeks are being beaten hands down by people who actually have some experience in running stores. One of those geeks sobbed to us privately. ‘It seemed like a really easy gig. Put in a few months working 24/7 to turn things around, and then walk away with millions in bonuses.  Instead, I’ve been working 24/7 for years, and all I’ve got is a shopping card that gives me ten per cent off. The stores are dirty, understocked, understaffed and expensive - even I don’t want to shop there. Why didn’t I choose a deal in financial services, software or health?’
Meanwhile, all those dyed-in-the-wool, nation-of-shopkeepers types are twisting the knife, doing all the things that the private equity owned shops can’t do. Like selling food at a competitive price in a store that shoppers actually want to visit.
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