The Full Trauma Report

Cold rooms, fake charging, bruised apples & bin bag chic. ibis Birmingham NEC delivers confusion with a side of Guinness.

A rare hotel where everything worked: free Twix, working shower, proper Guinness glass. I came for chaos. I left confused and hydrated.

Booked a night at Mercure Bradford for £70 and got exactly what I paid for: taped-off reception, a haunted kettle, two irons (because why not), and a toilet that may have legally been a crime scene. Add in a mute barman, dry fountains, a prayer room taped to a window, and a lift that sounds like it’s possessed, and you’ve got a spiritual retreat for the deeply unlucky. At least the WiFi worked. Miracles do happen.

We boarded Ambition with high hopes and dry socks. Neither lasted. In 24 glorious hours, we braved Guinness in Fosters glasses, sun decks sealed off like crime scenes, and scrambled eggs that defied science. Welcome to a cruise where the average age was 84, and we were the designated youth club.

Midgies, cheese trolleys & a man in a red suit. Taychreggan: where the views are stunning & the beer’s emotionally damaged.

Our stay at Ibis Budget Nottingham was anything but low-drama. From paramedics in the lift to late-night corridor chaos and an impromptu photo shoot outside, it was a night of unexpected cardio and confusion. If you're into broken lifts, surprise emergencies, and checking out with less dignity than you checked in with — this one's for you.

Step back in time (against your will) at the Chatsworth Hotel in Worthing — where decor hasn’t changed since Thatcher and neither has the scent. From broken lifts to broken spirits, this is the seaside time machine nobody asked for. Bonus: a rogue fire alarm to keep your heart rate up.

Ever wondered what it’s like to sleep in a Cold War relic with curtains from your gran’s house? This mysterious hotel blends bunker energy with nostalgic confusion. From yellow hallways to pillow-based disappointment, it’s a journey through time, concrete, and emotional fatigue.

Welcome to The Harlow Hotel, where confusion is complimentary and customer service is somewhere in the basement. From impromptu fire alarms to front desk chaos, this stay redefined “disorganised charm.” It's like Fawlty Towers—only with less structure and more existential dread. Buckle up for one night of bewilderment, passive-aggressive signage, and a suspiciously locked breakfast room.