Booking in was smoother than a politician’s promise. The staff were so cheerful I wondered if they’d been given happy pills. “Welcome! Your room’s ready, no queue!” they chirped. I half-expected a round of applause.
The lobby is clean, bright, and smells like fresh bread (I think they bake on-site). You can grab a coffee or a cheeky snack at the little shop, and yes, they sell gin. Priorities.
The Room: A Shrine to Sleep
Let’s talk about the bed. Oh, the hypnos bed. Premier Inn is famous for them, and this one was like sleeping on a cloud that had been trained by a grandma. I sank in and didn’t move for eight hours. My Fitbit thought I’d died.
The room itself is compact but smart. You get a kettle, tea bags, and a TV that works. The bathroom is a sparkling white cube with a shower that doesn’t need a PhD to operate. No fancy robes, but honestly, who needs them when you’ve got a towel that actually dries you?
One tiny warning: the walls are thin-ish. I heard my neighbor snoring like a vintage car engine. But it’s London—you expect a little noise, right?
