The Travel Critic

Well, how I’m here to write this review is beyond me. I spent three nights in what can only be described as a crossover between a low-budget horror film and a construction project that’s seemingly given up the will to live. I’ve stayed in some questionable hotels in my time, but never on an actual building site. A first for everything, I suppose.

The corridors are pitch black, save for the eerie glow of dangling wires, which you have to step over if you actually want to leave the hotel alive. A health and safety dream, if your dream involves multiple risk assessments and a trip to A&E. The walls are covered in masking tape, paint patches, and enough exposed wiring to make an electrician weep. The lights don’t work, but maybe that’s for the best—you don’t want to see what’s going on here.

Then there’s the soundproofing, or rather, the complete lack of it. You can hear everything from the rooms around you, though mercifully, the din from outside does a decent job of drowning it out. Double glazing, you ask? Not here. Maybe it’s part of the long-term renovation plan. Maybe they just haven’t thought of it yet. Either way, I suppose I should be grateful there was glass in the windows at all.

The ‘reception’ is where things really get cinematic. Picture a crime scene, mid-investigation, with a giant plastic sheet hanging from the ceiling like a makeshift body bag. What horrors lie behind it, we can only guess—probably just more of the same half-finished carnage, but there’s a distinct sense that checking in here could be the last mistake you ever make.

Now, I always try to find the positives. I mean, even Fred West probably put up a decent fence. So, here goes. The bed, while small, was comfortable. The room was, technically, clean. And… nope, that’s it.

Honestly, this place has no business being open in its current state. Don’t stay here unless you fancy starring in your own low-rent psychological thriller. Give it a miss until they’ve finished building it—or knocked it down and started again.