Mercure Sheffield Parkway – A Safe Full of Regrets

Nigel’s night out: one fizzy Guinness, one unsolved safe, zero customer service.”

Accor’s website promises a “modern 4-star haven near Meadowhall and Sheffield Arena.” Reality check: it’s a corporate purgatory with Sudoku check-in, Guinness poured like Fanta, and brown carpets designed by someone who hates eyesight. If Mercure Doncaster felt like punishment and ibis Budget Newport was prison chic, this is the bland business-park cousin who failed art class.

🛎️ Check-In Chaos & ParkingEye Purgatory

Check-in began with staff failing to locate my booking. I produced my Accor app like a courtroom exhibit, only for them to attempt charging me £92 instead of the £62 I’d already paid. Maths was clearly optional in staff training. A loyalty upgrade request triggered existential panic: the receptionist admitted she was borrowed from another hotel and had to phone a friend. After paperwork rivaling Brexit negotiations, I got my room.

ParkingEye’s machine then joined the circus, double-typing every digit until I surrendered and scribbled my number plate on paper. Free parking, yes, but with the looming dread of a £100 fine.

£62 on the app, £92 at the desk — Accor’s version of ‘surge pricing.’

🛗 Lift & Corridor of Brown Despair

Whisked upstairs in an Orona-branded lift — the Tesla of hotel elevators, fast and smooth, unlike the coffin-hoists at most Accors. It almost felt premium. Then the doors opened.

The corridor was a brown patterned nightmare, dotted loops stretching into infinity like the flight path of a drunk wasp. Beige walls, identical doors, soulless prints — a wormhole to despair. Walking to my room felt like starring in “The Shining: IKEA Edition.”

A carpet designed by a drunk wasp with crayons.

🛏️ Arctic Welcome & Mattress Mysteries

The room greeted me like a walk-in freezer. Both windows wide open, heating off, the ambience of a morgue. Slammed them shut, cranked the heating, and prayed for circulation. Décor was beige-on-beige, but at least clean.

The bed was a genuine double (not Accor’s usual “two singles forced into an unhappy marriage”), but the mattress tag revealed it was delivered in August 2017. Seven years old: the hotel equivalent of serving a pint brewed during Theresa May’s premiership. Unsurprisingly, no USB sockets. Desk was big, practical, but about as stylish as an exam hall.

☕ Kettle Crimes, Biscuits & Water Redemption

Refreshments were a split personality. On one side: a Magimix pod machine — genuinely fancy. On the other: a kettle so filthy it looked like it had been rescued from Novotel Coventry’s kettle graveyard. Throw in Nescafé instant sachets and Twinings teabags, and you’ve got a caffeine roulette.

The minibar fridge held two glass bottles of water (still and sparkling), and — salvation at last — Walkers Golden Oat biscuits. These were, without irony, the highlight of the stay. When the high point of a four-star hotel is a £1.20 biscuit, Accor should probably stop pretending.

🚿 Bathroom of Peeling Dreams

A bathroom with both a bath and a separate shower — impressive. Unfortunately, the ceiling paint was peeling in sheets, so every shower felt like standing under a croissant factory. At least the Elemental Herbology toiletries provided a whiff of spa-level class — though next to the paint flakes, they felt like perfume in a skip.

The in-room safe was already locked, taunting me with thoughts of hidden treasure (or just someone else’s forgotten socks). Spent part of the evening Googling “how to break into a hotel safe,” which says it all.

🍺 Barroom Ballet: Guinness Gate

Voucher in hand, I marched to the bar. Waited five minutes before a barman materialised and produced what he swore was Guinness — except it looked and fizzed like lager. When I complained, they poured half out, then tipped it back into the same glass. Somewhere, The Great Guinness Glass Audit shed a tear. The nozzle was apparently broken, so I settled for Peroni — poured correctly, in the right glass, which felt like a biblical miracle.

Entertainment bonus: another guest returned to find both his whisky and beer poured away. “Tidied,” they called it. Theft, I called it.

When Guinness fails, Peroni prevails.

🍽️ The Food Fiasco

By 9pm, the restaurant was closed. No problem, thought I — there’s a QR code for 24-hour room service. Except nothing was available. Every item: “not available.” Even the token soup. After admitting defeat, I ordered a kebab via Just Eat. It arrived an hour later, greasy enough to fuel a tractor. It was the kind of meal that makes ibis Nottingham look like fine dining.

24-hour room service — as long as ‘24’ means zero and ‘service’ means Just Eat.

📶 Wi-Fi: The Only Winner

Here’s the real shock: the Wi-Fi was blisteringly fast. 125 down, 126 up. Faster than most Accors, faster than my home, fast enough to livestream my descent into madness in glorious HD. Proof miracles can happen, just not in the bar.

Internet speed so good, I nearly forgave the Guinness

💤 Final Thoughts

The Mercure Sheffield Parkway is clean, boring, and utterly sabotaged by its staff. Check-in chaos, locked safes, Guinness heresy, brown corridors, and food that didn’t exist — it’s a four-star hotel in name only. The Orona lift was a rare delight, the Wi-Fi was NASA-level, and the oat biscuits were divine.

Rating: 🛏🛏🛏 out of five. One star for the Wi-Fi, one for the biscuits, and one for the Peroni arriving in its proper glass. Everything else should be locked back in the safe, preferably forever. Curious how this hotel stacks up against the rest?👉 See the full Accor-ometer: Beds, Beers & Bad Decisions