Mercure Newcastle Washington – Debbie Deserves a Knighthood

Haunted cardigan, Guinness salvation, Debbie for PM.

Mercure call this a “golf and spa resort.” I call it the Bermuda Triangle of Accor — where all the usual horrors (stains, chipped kettles, Guinness poured into cider glasses) mysteriously vanished. Either I stumbled into a parallel dimension or Debbie the cleaner is secretly running the entire operation.

🚪 Check-In – The Twilight Zone

Reception smiled at me. Not the “corporate hostage smile” you usually get at an Accor desk, but an actual human expression of warmth. Before I even had the chance to slam down my loyalty card like a blackjack dealer, they’d already upgraded me, slid across drinks vouchers, and waved me off with free parking that required no ParkingEye degree in astrophysics.

I genuinely thought I’d wandered into a Marriott by mistake. A far cry from the chaos of Novotel Coventry.

Reception smiled. Wrong hotel?

🛏 The Presidential Wing (aka, My New Postcode)

This wasn’t a room. This was a housing estate with central heating. I had a hallway, a sitting area with a sofa and a 50-inch TV that worked, and an L-shaped desk so large MI6 could run field ops from it.

The bed? A proper superking. Not three ibis mattresses held together with duct tape, but an actual piece of furniture designed for human sleep. It was so comfortable that I woke up both refreshed and suspicious — was this really Accor, or had I been smuggled into The Ritz by mistake?

Compared to the glorified shoebox of ibis Styles Crewe, this was a kingdom.

🚿 Bathroom – Honeymoon Horror Show

Step into the bathroom and you enter “open-plan romance.” Two sinks for a his-and-hers routine — or in my case, one for brushing teeth, the other for rinsing hands like a synchronised swimmer. A freestanding bath stood proudly alongside a full shower cubicle.

But the pièce de résistance? No door. Just open to the bedroom. Nothing says intimacy like maintaining eye contact across the bed while your beloved conducts serious business on the toilet. It’s the sort of detail only Accor could call a “design feature.”

Still, spotless. My forensic glove test found nothing… except a child-sized pink cardigan hanging in the wardrobe. Either this suite has a resident ghost, or Debbie the cleaner is planting Netflix horror subplots on purpose.

🍫 Creature Comforts – Debbie’s Love Letter

A white Nespresso machine — the rarest Pokémon in Accor’s ecosystem. A wooden box of pods, a clean kettle with Taylors Earl Grey, and Biscoff biscuits. A minibar fridge actually stocked with bottled juices and sparkling water. On the desk: dark chocolate honeycomb chunks, as if the hotel knew I was dieting and wanted to sabotage me.

And then: the handwritten note. “Enjoy your stay – Debbie.” Accor’s entire loyalty programme has given me nothing but broken keycards and heartache. Debbie has given me hope. Knight her immediately.

🏊 Spa – Robe Regret Chronicles

The pool was surprisingly decent — wide enough that you could swim without colliding with a pensioner doing aqua-Zumba. The sauna, however, was a broom cupboard stuffed with sweaty strangers, breathing like Darth Vader on heatwave mode.

I marched around in my robe, chest out, trying to radiate Roman Emperor energy. In reality, I looked like a microwaved marshmallow that had escaped from a laundrette. Every corridor I shuffled down, guests glided past like serene spa disciples while I clutched my keycard as if it was a holy relic. By the end, I wasn’t relaxed — I was ready for an exorcism.

Emperor vibes, marshmallow reality.

🍗 Food & Drink – Poultry Religion & Guinness Redemption

Dinner was a spicy peri-peri half chicken that nearly converted me to a new faith. Crispy skin, juicy meat, and enough spice to clear out my sinuses faster than Coventry ring road traffic fumes. It was one of those meals that makes you pause, look around, and wonder: “Am I actually in a Mercure?”

Then the bar. I presented my free drinks voucher, fully expecting the usual Accor insult (a Becks in a Guinness glass). Instead — Guinness. On tap. In the correct glass. Angels wept. Somewhere in Dublin, a harp strummed itself.

This wasn’t just a pint; it was an apology for every Guinness crime ever committed in Novotel Newcastle Airport. If you’ve missed the carnage of previous offences, revisit the Guinness Glass Audit.

📡 Wi-Fi – Witchcraft Confirmed

Speeds of 105 down, 90 up. In a Mercure. In Washington. This wasn’t Wi-Fi — this was sorcery. BT engineers would quit on the spot if they saw my Speedtest results. I half expected it to collapse mid-test, like the tragic connection at ibis Budget Newport.

🎭 Final Thoughts – Accor’s Accidental Masterpiece

I came ready to mock. I left confused, full of chicken, and slightly in love with Debbie. The sauna was a sweat-filled cupboard, the bathroom door situation is an HR violation, but everything else? Genuinely impressive.

Final verdict: 🛏🛏🛏🛏⭐ — four beds and one haunted cardigan.Nigel Slippers: reluctantly booking again.

Curious how this hotel stacks up against the rest?👉 See the full Accor-ometer: Beds, Beers & Bad Decisions