Mercure Bradford: A Gentle Descent Into Madness (With Complimentary Drink Voucher)

There are many ways to spend £70 in West Yorkshire. You could buy 140 Greggs sausage rolls, a 20-year-old Ford Ka, or even the silence of a barman. But I chose to check into the Mercure Bradford Bankfield, where time has stood still, customer service is in witness protection, and your reward for brand loyalty is a drink voucher and mild emotional scarring.

🏰 First Impressions: Wow! (Wait… No.)

From a distance, the Mercure Bradford is majestic. Think Downton Abbey, if Lord Grantham had leased the place to a Travelodge franchisee in 1987. The sandstone façade rises grandly behind manicured gardens and — oh no, what’s that — a stack of pallets filled with what appears to be either linen, insulation, or abandoned dreams.

“Welcome to your premium experience, now with industrial laundry chic.”

Nearby, a proud stone fountain sits completely bone dry. A modern monument to austerity, or just a reminder that someone forgot how water works.

🚧 Reception: Now Featuring Less Reception

You know what really screams “luxury”? A taped-off reception desk that looks like it was raided by HMRC. Hazard tape, A4 signs, and instructions to go check in at the bar. Obviously.

“Check-in relocated to this week’s location of despair.”

Also featuring a haunting horse painting, which may or may not be watching your every move.

“‘Equestrian Nightmare No. 3’ – oil on trauma.”

I asked if I’d been upgraded as a Platinum Accor Member. He laughed. Then handed me a drink voucher. That’s it. That was the upgrade.

🧭 The “New” Wing: Spiritually Pre-Owned

I followed vague directions toward the “new part” of the hotel, which I assume means “only partially haunted.” Along the way, I passed one of the strangest signs I’ve ever seen in a hotel: an A4 printed page taped to a window that simply read “Gentlemen Prayer Room.”

It felt less like a religious facility and more like the beginning of a very niche horror film.

“Spiritual guidance, brought to you by Microsoft Word and Sellotape.”

Eventually found the lift — a dusty brown coffin of a machine that wheezed and clanked like a Victorian ghost train.

“May or may not be powered by rage and pigeons.”

🚪 The Room: A Warm Welcome and a Filthy Kettle

The room was… nice. Bright, spacious, and a lovely view of the countryside. But like every episode of Scooby-Doo, things unravel fast.

I approached the kettle — the ultimate hotel litmus test — and opened the lid. What greeted me was less of an appliance and more of a biohazard exhibit.

Thick white crust lining the bottom, a smell of warm metal and despair, and something floating inside that might have once been part of a teabag. I closed it. Slowly. Respectfully. Like a cursed relic.

“Today’s brew: mildew and metal shavings.”

Next to this scene of domestic horror sat two sachets of instant coffee, a teabag that looked tired of life, and some UHT milk pots. But — and this is where I draw the line — no biscuits. Not even a token shortbread or a limp Rich Tea.

This wasn’t just an oversight. This was an attack.

☎️ The Phone: Calling From Beyond

And then there was the phone. Or what was left of it.

A once-white Berkshire 200, now a lovely shade of ancient nicotine yellow. Covered in handwritten stickers — perhaps emergency instructions, perhaps a cry for help — it looked like it had been rescued from a forgotten corner of BT’s 1994 warehouse clearance.

👔 Honourable Mention: The Corby 6600C

Nestled proudly in the corner was a Corby 6600C trouser press — part appliance, part museum exhibit, part spiritual guide.

For the uninitiated, this is the gold standard of British hotel room accessories. Designed in the 1980s for a world where men travelled with trousers that required daily flattening, the Corby now sits silently in guest rooms across the nation like a dusty monument to formality.

“Wrinkle your clothes, wrinkle your soul.”

🚽 The Bathroom: A Crime Scene in White Tiles

At first glance, it looked fine. Clean-ish. Functional. But like everything in this hotel, the closer you looked, the more it felt like an escape room for bacteria.

The sink had the classic two-tap setup — one for boiling, one for frostbite. Pick a side and commit.

The Elemental Herbology bottles looked high-end, but were completely empty. Possibly just for display. Maybe a trap.

Then I noticed the extractor fan, which appeared to be made entirely of ancient dust and despair.

The grouting had turned from white to “mystery beige” sometime in the last decade, and the toilet contained something so grim I genuinely considered checking out early.

“Hell hath flushed no fury like this.”

🍺 The Bar: Say Nothing if You’re Miserable

I slid up to the bar to redeem my free drink voucher and was met with the kind of silence normally reserved for police interrogations. No words. Just a tin of Guinness cracked open and handed over in quiet defeat.

“It’s Guinness. From a tin. But hey, it’s wet.”

📶 WiFi: The Real MVP

Somehow, in this vortex of mid-tier misery, the WiFi was flawless. 18.8Mbps down, 38Mbps up. Stronger than the emotional support I received from the staff.

📺 TV Time: Homes Under the Buffering

Riding high on my WiFi success, I went to turn on the TV.

Nothing. Dead.

Turns out the remote was missing a battery. Just one. Of course.

Battery installed, I settled in for Homes Under the Hammer — only for the TV to buffer, freeze, and give up every few minutes like it, too, had seen the bathroom.

I wasn’t watching Homes Under the Hammer.

I was watching Buffering Under the Budget.

⭐ Final Rating:

🧃🧃☕🛗🚽

2 Complimentary Drinks, 1 Haunted Kettle, a Growling Lift & 1 Unflushable Memory

(Luxury meets therapy. Batteries not included.) Curious how this hotel stacks up against the rest?

 👉 See the full Accor-ometer: Beds, Beers & Bad Decisions