There is something distinctly symbolic about a government promising to kick a habit by New Year. It is the season of resolutions, of flushed cheeks and good intentions. But when the habit in question is a reliance on Russian diesel and jet fuel, and the deadline is the stroke of midnight on December 31st, the stakes are rather higher than cutting out sugar or taking up jogging.
This week, Downing Street made its announcement: a phased ban on imports of Russian oil products, with the final cutoff set for the end of the year. The language was one of sovereignty, of national security, of weaning Britain off the Kremlin's energy teat. It is a bold move, one that plays well in the papers and on the hustings. But out here on the damp streets of a British autumn, the question is what this actually means for the people who fill up their cars and heat their homes.
The first thing to understand is that this is not a ban on Russian crude oil. That came earlier, part of a wider G7 embargo. This is about the refined products: the diesel that runs lorries and trains, the jet fuel that powers holidays and business trips. And it is about closing a loophole. For months, British refineries have been importing Russian crude, processing it, and then selling the finished fuel on. The new measures aim to stop that, forcing firms to prove that their diesel and kerosene do not contain Russian molecules.
For the man on the street, the immediate impact is likely to be felt at the pump. Diesel prices have already been painfully high, hovering around 150p per litre in many places. Analysts are warning that this new phase-out could add another few pence, at least in the short term. The government is keen to stress that the UK is not as dependent on Russian fuel as some European neighbours. But that is cold comfort for a haulier trying to make ends meet, or a family planning a half-term getaway to the sun.
There is also a deeper cultural shift at play here. For decades, we have lived with the illusion of energy security, fuelled by global markets and complex supply chains. A war in Ukraine, a coup in some distant OPEC nation, it all seemed abstract. Now, the abstraction is becoming concrete. The government is asking businesses and consumers to accept a degree of discomfort in the name of principle. It is a test of national resolve, but also of national patience.
The timing is also interesting. January 1st is a Monday. It is the day when hangovers meet hangnails, when the Christmas decorations come down and the credit card bills go up. To add fuel price rises to that mix is a gamble. The Treasury will be hoping that the market adjusts smoothly, that alternative suppliers in the Middle East and the United States step up. The environment secretary, Thérèse Coffey, has been bullish, saying the UK has "ample" supplies. But ample and affordable are two different things.
What this really represents is a recalibration of our relationship with energy. It is not just about Russia. It is about the fragility of a system built on cheap, plentiful fossil fuels. The push for net zero, for renewables, for domestic production, all of this has been accelerated by the war. But in the meantime, there is the messy business of weaning ourselves off a bad habit. And as anyone who has tried to give up smoking knows, the first few weeks are the hardest.
So as we hurtle toward the New Year, keep an eye on the forecourt prices. They will tell you more about the state of British sovereignty than any press release. And if you are planning a road trip, perhaps fill up before the bells chime. The hangover from this particular resolution might last well into January.
