The Harlow Hotel by Accor – Fawlty Towers Wishes It Was This Disorganised

Nigel Slippers
Jun 7, 2025
2 min read

Updated: Sep 8, 2025

Location: Somewhere near despair. Technically Harlow.

You know it’s going to be a good stay when the reception desk is staffed by absolutely no one. Not “I’ll be right back” empty — I mean full Bermuda Triangle vanishing.

I asked multiple staff for help, each of whom reacted like I’d asked to borrow their toothbrush. No one could check me in. Just a parade of shrugs and phone calls that led nowhere. I waited 20 minutes in a lobby that smelt like forgotten ambition.

Finally, Ufuoma arrived — not flustered, not apologetic, just breezing in like nothing had happened, while I stood there aging in real time.

Another guest needed a replacement room key. Standard stuff. Took her about 10 minutes and the stress levels of a hostage negotiator.

Then it was my turn.

I was handed what can only be described as a border control form, and told I needed photo ID. I stay in Accor hotels 4–5 times a week and have never been asked for ID. Not once. Ever. Even more confusing: I could see my entire profile on her screen. Full name, address, booking confirmation — it was all there.

So what was the ID for? Vibes? Drama?

I offered my credit card instead. She snatched it like I was passing her a forged passport. I snatched it back. She had no business touching it. It felt less like a check-in and more like a boss level of bureaucracy.

Eventually, I summoned the manager like a Pokémon and finally got a room key.

❄️ The Restaurant: Bring a Coat and Lower Your Expectations

Feeling brave (or foolish), I decided to try the restaurant. Inside, it was so cold you could see your breath. People were leaving mid-meal to avoid frostbite.

I asked when the kitchen closed. “20:30,” they said. I placed an order at 19:57. Money taken, job done.

“Oh wait... the kitchen’s closed.”

Right. But you just said it closes at 20:30. Cue chaos. They ran off to check, came back pretending like nothing happened, and confirmed the pizza was coming.

It arrived 15 minutes later — completely wrong.

So I sat there, wrapped in a metaphorical blanket of disappointment, sipping a Guinness from a Goose Island glass, chewing my pizza mistake, and trying not to spiral into an existential crisis.