Mercure Telford – Ironbridge, IPA, and Canine Betrayal
- Nigel Slippers
- Aug 1, 2025
- 5 min read
Updated: Sep 7, 2025
Welcome to Mercure Telford Centre Hotel, where “comfort meets convenience” in the same way a shopping trolley meets a motorway. It’s pitched as the ideal base for business travellers, leisure explorers, and people who’ve made one too many questionable life choices.
Enjoy renovated rooms, ClickShare meeting spaces, and a Leisure Club where you can reflect on your regrets from the sauna. According to their site, you’ll find authentic local charm, fantastic cuisine, and — if you’re lucky — a dog who gets treated better than you.
Let’s begin.
🚶♂️ Arrival – Queue First, Cry Later
I arrived with optimism. Mistake number one. The lobby was full — a conga line of people either checking in or checking out of their will to live. The scene resembled airport security if airport security had less organisation and more luggage rage.
But I’ll give them credit: the staff were surprisingly efficient. I barely had time to mutter “Accor” before the receptionist beamed like I’d won the hotel lottery. She reached beneath the desk and handed me a gift with both hands.
A gift. For me. I blinked.
It was an Ironbridge keyring. Made of actual iron. As if forged by dwarves in the fires of Telford. Handed over like an Olympic medal, while other guests looked on in horror, jealousy or confusion. I stood there holding it like I’d just won “Most Emotionally Fragile Guest of the Month.”
🛏️ Room 101 – Orwell Called, He Wants His Paranoia Back
My room was Room 101, which if you’re into dystopian literature, you’ll know is literally the room where your worst nightmares come true. I entered expecting rats or maybe a photo of my ex.
Instead, I found a modern, clean, bright room. Huh?
A real double bed — not two reluctant singles huddling together for warmth like flat-packed divorcees. An actual, unified mattress. I had to lie down immediately, mostly from the shock.
USB ports by the bed. On both sides. What sorcery is this? Did I accidentally check into the future? I half expected a robot butler to emerge from the wardrobe and offer me shortbread.
Then there was a Nespresso machine sitting proudly like it knew it didn’t belong in a hotel this price range. A clean kettle, too. Not just rinsed — properly clean. I considered emailing someone about it.
Opened the fridge… and there it was: a lone tin of Diet Coke, sitting like a passive-aggressive nutritional intervention. Alongside it? A bottle of still water and a small carton of orange juice, as if the hotel was staging a polite intervention.
No biscuits. Not even a rogue shortbread. Just hydration and disappointment.
This fridge didn’t just whisper “health conscious” — it screamed, “We’ve seen your BMI and made executive decisions.” It was less of a minibar and more of a judgement chamber. I stared at the Diet Coke like it had personally called me chunky.
If this was their idea of indulgence, I fear what they'd offer during Lent.
If that wasn’t enough, I was on the ground floor, right at the front of the hotel... with single-glazed windows. I could hear everything: people talking, tyres screeching, a man coughing in the distance. I may as well have been sleeping on the pavement with a pillow.
🛁 Bathroom – Spa Vibes With a Hint of Trauma
The bathroom was surprisingly bougie. Robes, slippers, Elemental Herbology products that sounded like something a wizard uses to exfoliate. But the glamour ends when the road noise seeps in while you're mid-shampoo, and you start questioning whether this is a hotel or a motorway-adjacent experiment in sleep deprivation.
🍺 The Bar – Guinness Tease & Biscuit-Based Class Warfare
Took my free drink voucher to the bar, saw the Guinness tap, and felt joy for the first time in years.
“Sorry, we’ve run out.” Run. Out. Of. Guinness.
I hadn’t known true pain until that moment. I considered phoning home to say goodbye.
The barman — lovely chap, possibly drunk — offered a Beavertown IPA instead, which came in the correct branded glass. Small victories.
This heartbreaking Guinness drought earned Telford a spot in The Great Guinness Glass Audit, alongside Britain’s other pint tragedies.
He was, however, far more interested in the dog at the bar than me. Full conversations. Laughs. Eye contact. He gave it a biscuit. Then another. At one point I thought they might exchange numbers.
Meanwhile, I — the paying human guest — remained entirely biscuitless, emotionally unravelled and sipping a consolation IPA like a sad extra in a dog-friendly rom-com. I’ve never been so thoroughly outclassed by a Jack Russell in my life.
🎯 Bar Games – Licence to Tilt
Just when I thought the bar couldn’t surprise me any further — past the missing Guinness and dog snack injustice — I spotted it: a James Bond “Dr. No” edition pinball machine.
Yes. You read that right.
A full-size, blinking, buzzing Sean Connery shrine, smack in the middle of Telford. Because nothing says “modern business hotel” like slapping chrome balls around a vintage spy-themed table while pretending you’re suave and emotionally stable.
It’s the only time I’ve ever felt shaken, stirred, and slightly electrocuted all at once. 10/10 for confusing brand synergy.
📶 WiFi – When Hope Dies Slowly
Connected instantly. Promising.
Ran a speed test: 4 Mbps down, 2 Mbps up. Not bad if it was 1998 and you were trying to send a fax. I managed to load a weather page and three quarters of a meme before giving up and staring at my Ironbridge keyring like it might whisper encouragement.
🧐 Final Thoughts – Stylish, Confusing, and Emotionally Draining
So to recap:I queued.I was gifted a weaponised keyring.I got upgraded to a dystopian literary reference.I drank a skinny fridge Coke while watching a dog live its best life.And I fell asleep to the sound of passing vans.
And I kind of… liked it?
Because beneath the sarcasm and biscuit starvation, the staff were genuinely lovely, the room was clean, the barman was a canine enthusiast, and I wore a robe like a discount king.
Most importantly — there was no mint on my pillow. Just a bottle of Diet Coke and a reminder that Telford is still very much... Telfording.
🌟 Rating: 🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️❄️ out of 5
One keyring trophy, two USB ports, zero Guinness, and a dog with all the biscuits.
Telford: weirdly brilliant, mildly traumatic. Chaos. Confusion. Canine biscuits.Would return. With my own snacks. Curious how this hotel stacks up against the rest?
👉 See the full Accor-ometer: Beds, Beers & Bad Decisions
I’ve also been emotionally rejected by a bar dog. He wagged at my wife and ignored me completely. Probably smelled my lack of biscuits.
Room 101?! I stayed there too. Thought it was haunted. Turns out it was just the single glazing and a bus stop outside.
USB ports on both sides of the bed? This is witchcraft. I stayed last month and had to charge my phone from the bathroom mirror light.
I once got downgraded AND the dog drank my pint. This is becoming an epidemic. Justice for humans!