The Gambling Commission’s New Framework: Now With 87% More Box-Ticking and 0% Support

Consumer Voice? More Like ‘Rent-a-Conscience’

The Gambling Commission—Britain’s moral hall monitor for punters—isn’t exactly known for having a finger on the pulse. It's more the kind of institution that still uses fax machines and thinks “loot box” is a new term for a lost property bin. But fret not, dear gamblers, because they’ve now launched what they’re calling the Consumer Voice Framework, which sounds suspiciously like a euphemism for “Sorry, we forgot you existed – again.”

No fewer than four research firms have been enlisted for this noble quest to understand why Derek from Doncaster spends his child’s milk money on Albanian greyhound races at 3 a.m. They’ve even given them tidy two-year contracts, with a possible extension to 2029 – assuming, of course, there are still functioning households left to survey by then.

Think of it as a taxpayer-funded focus group for the previously ignored. The Commission has, for years, managed to combine the glacial response rate of a Victorian telegram office with the moral flexibility of a back-alley bookie. Now, in a remarkable pivot, it’s bringing in outside help to understand your pain. Like your emotionally unavailable ex who suddenly shows up with a therapist and a clipboard, desperate to process “our shared truths.”

The Four Horsemen of the Regulatory Apocalypse

Let’s meet the new priests of participatory penance:

• Yonder Consulting: They’re in charge of “mixed-methods research,” which presumably means giving you a survey, then ignoring the bits that don’t fit the narrative.

• The Behavioural Insights Team: Also known as “Nudge Unit”, these are the folks who study how you think, feel, and click “bet again” at 1:12 a.m. on a Tuesday.

• Humankind Research: They specialise in “hard-to-reach audiences”—a nice way of saying “anyone not wearing Boden and sipping oat milk in a Hackney focus group.”

• Savanta: Providers of “quick turnaround” research. Translation: they’ll have a snazzy pie chart explaining your betting breakdown faster than you can say “responsible gambling pop-up.”

One can only assume they’ll produce a combined 200-slide PowerPoint titled “Ladbrokes and Loss Aversion: A Portrait of the Nation in Decline.”

Your Lived Experience, Brought to You by a LinkedIn Post

Laura Carter, Head of Research at the Commission, assures us this is “central to our efforts to ensure our decisions are grounded in the lived experiences of all consumers.” Which is exactly what you want to hear from the people who approved slot machines in motorway service stations.

“Lived experience” now joins the great euphemistic pantheon of words like “robust dialogue” (argument), “rolling out enhancements” (adding pop-ups you can’t skip), and “putting consumers at the heart” (blaming them for their own misery).

Of course, the tragic comedy is that 99% of punters didn’t ask for this. What they wanted was simpler regulation, fairer odds, and maybe—just maybe—a website that doesn’t freeze every time you try to cash out. But no. What they’re getting is a multi-year programme where people in horn-rimmed glasses will discuss your “betting journey” over quinoa and ethically sourced coffee.

Don’t Worry, It’s For Your Own Good (Probably)

And who could forget the press releases from the research suppliers themselves? Each statement dripping in earnestness and jargon, like an episode of Newsnight hosted by a TED Talk speaker.

Tom from Humankind says they’re here for “sensitive and inclusive approaches.” Which is sweet. Because nothing says “inclusive” like losing your mortgage deposit on a novelty bet about Love Island evictions. Savanta, meanwhile, wants to ensure the Commission “stays on the pulse.” A noble ambition, for an institution that often feels more “flatline” than “heartbeat.”

And BIT? They’re the kind of people who think the average gambler’s main concern is behavioural economics, rather than whether they can get a pint in before the next race.

What Next – Therapy Dogs for Acca Losses?

You could forgive the average punter for feeling a bit like a lab rat in a psychology experiment funded by the Church of Self-Loathing. The new Consumer Voice setup feels less like consultation and more like some elaborate anthropological expedition, where researchers sit in glass boxes watching you bet on Belarusian ping-pong while making notes on your facial twitches.

Will this data lead to more responsible regulation? Or will it be filed away under “fascinating but fiscally inconvenient”? Time, and a million pound contract extension, will tell.

But don’t be surprised when your next £5 accumulator is met not with a payout, but a brief online questionnaire asking how it made you feel, followed by a 45-minute debrief via Zoom with someone called Eleanor who once wrote a dissertation on dopamine spikes in slot machine lighting.

A 10-Point Action Plan for Pretending to Care

If you sift through the PR guff, what you actually get is a masterclass in civil service theatre:

1. Create Framework – check

2. Outsource Empathy – check

3. Use the phrase “lived experience” at least 7 times – check

4. Contract four research firms so no one’s quite sure who’s accountable – check

5. Pretend experimental psychology is somehow the same as public service – check

6. Deploy press releases full of words like “robust” and “nuanced” – check

7. Ensure all findings support pre-existing agenda – double check

8. Ignore requests from actual gamblers for more transparency – quietly binned

9. Install more hurdles for people trying to enjoy legal gambling – already implemented

10. Continue offering the emotional range of a granite countertop – always on

A Commission At War With Its Own Constituents

The irony, of course, is that the Gambling Commission exists to regulate gambling, not dismantle it via regulatory waterboarding. But with every press release, every new “consumer-centric” study, and every moralistic jab from the Rhodes regime, it becomes clearer: they don’t hate problem gambling—they hate gambling, full stop.

They don’t want to help you; they want to reform you. And failing that, restrict you into oblivion until the only thing left standing is a banner ad for GamStop and a dusty William Hill in a condemned high street.

This latest framework isn’t a sign of progress. It’s the administrative equivalent of shouting “WE’RE LISTENING” through a megaphone while removing your wallet.

And Finally: A Message to the Average Gambler

You, dear punter, are not forgotten. You’re misunderstood, misrepresented, and marginalised—but not forgotten. You are the lifeblood of an industry and the scapegoat of a policy agenda so warped it thinks studying you from afar is the same as helping you up.

So place your bets if you must. But remember: the house always wins.

And the Commission? They’re too busy ticking boxes to notice you’re even at the table.