Our undercover Hotel Inspector checks into the Britannia Hotel, named Britain’s worst hotel chain for the 12th successive year in 2025 by consumer group Which?…
Never judge a book by its cover. Even so, the exterior of the Britannia Hotel in Coventry is unremittingly grim – a filthy concrete jungle that is an insult both to concrete and jungles.
Things can only get better once you cross the threshold. But that’s not the case.
There is a group of six men waiting to be checked in and tension hovers in the stale air. Not one of them speaks much English and nor do the two surly young women on the reception desk.
The manager is called – but I can’t work out what’s going on. And nor can he.
What I can decipher is the framed notices on the wall behind the desk, implicit in their hostility.
‘No chip and pin means no check-in,’ insists one missive.
‘Warning: Premises protected by 24-hour audio and video surveillance. By entering you agree to be audio & video recorded,’ reads another.
Britannia Hotel in Coventry is known for its Brutalist architecture, built in 1973, which spans Fairfax Street
The hotel is a 3-star property located in the heart of Coventry city centre
‘Have your photo ID ready during check-in,’ says a third.
I haven’t (as yet) spent a night in jail as a guest of His Majesty but this might come close. I’m assigned to room 521, reached via the grubbiest of lifts.
The Britannia group of hotels – of which there are 64 across the country – has just been named Britain’s worst hotel chain for the 12th successive year by the consumer research group Which?
I’ve arrived with an open mind. Bad reviews often turn out to be inflated – and when paying £49 for a room you don’t expect rose petals on the bed and a bottle of champers in the fridge.
But you also don’t expect the panel of the bath to be hanging loose, the ceiling light to flicker as if in the throes of its own demise, a dangling shower attachment, and windows so dirty that you cannot see through them.
What you might expect – even at these prices – are two bedside lamps rather than just one, a bar of soap, the smallest bottle of water, a mattress that gives a little when you lie on it, and a bed that doesn’t creak as if you have checked into a chamber of horrors.
I’ve missed Happy Hour (5pm to 9pm) by five minutes, meaning that I can’t take advantage of a pint of ‘Tetley Smoth’ for £3 or a large glass of house wine for £2.97.
So I pay the full whack of £3.95 for some pinot grigio, which I would love to take home, as it would come in handy to remove the flaking paint from need my sitting-room windows.
Rooms are en-suite and typically include a TV, telephone, hairdryer, and tea/coffee making facilities
The restaurant, Bentley’s, sits along the corridor, past the bank of lifts where there are more taurant framed signs, one of which reads ‘But clear that check-out must be by buffet,’ 10am during the week.
Another says the fire alarm will sound on Monday mornings.
No one is in the restaurant save thing for a man in chef’s trousers and one other employee.
‘A coach has been in, so there’s nothing left to help eat,’ says the chef.
‘Anyway, you need to pay first at reception.’
Fair enough – but both receptionists are determined to be as unhelpful as possible.
‘The restaurant is now closed,’ they trill.
‘But there’s food there at the buffet,’ I tell them. ‘And dinner is served until 9pm. It’s only 8.10pm.’
The building has a distinctive design featuring a series of interconnected blocks and prominent curved roof structures
One of them escorts me back to the restaurant and there’s something of a stand-off between her and the chef.
She eventually retreats and the chef says: ‘Just help yourself, mate. No worries.’
Roast gammon (acceptable) and fishcakes (unacceptable) are on offer plus roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, soggy broccoli (criminal) that’s lost its colouring and gravy with the consistency of treacle.
The dining room is in Christmas mode. Tacky grotto, tables with crackers and party hats, tinsel and loud festive music on a short loop.
Before returning to my cell, I drop by the bar and buy water.
Two elderly women are having a drink. Coronation Street plays on a big screen. I’m not one for sleeping in my clothes but am tempted here.
Perhaps if I just float off to the land of nod, all will be different in the morning. And in some ways, it is.
First, I bump into the chef from the night before, who is carrying various tools and clearly doubles up as a member of the maintenance team. There’s lots of maintenance to do but I can’t be bothered to mention the panelling on my bath.
‘What you might expect – even at these prices – are two bedside lamps rather than just one, a bar of soap, the smallest bottle of water, a mattress that gives a little when you lie on it, and a bed that doesn’t creak as if you have checked into a chamber of horrors,’ said the Inspector
Christmas music in Bentley’s is even louder at breakfast.
‘You’re room only, so you can’t have breakfast,’ says the frosty restaurant manager.
‘I thought I could pay,’ I say.
‘You can but you need to do that at reception and then come back with a receipt.’
Off I go to see my friends on reception. Same crew as last night, same attitude. I pay £12.50 and return waving my receipt as if I’ve won top prize at a coconut shy.
‘How can I get a cup of coffee?’ I ask the manager.
‘Over there,’ she says, pointing at a box containing sachets of instant Nescafe.
I can endure fried eggs swimming in fat and baked beans that have developed a crust – both of which I’ve spotted at the buffet – but I draw the line at instant coffee from a plastic sachet.
The juxtaposition of all this is that the man who owns the Britannia group, Alex Langsam, 87, is worth a reported £400million.
The hotel chain has been ranked as the worst in the UK for several consecutive years based on customer satisfaction surveys
His parents were Jewish refugees who came to Britain from Vienna when Adolf Hitler annexed Austria in 1938 and today he lives in a ten-bedroom house in Cheshire.
Langsam founded Britannia nearly 50 years ago with the purchase of a hotel in Didsbury, Manchester, and in 2011 he bought Pontins from administrators for an estimated £20million.
I call the head office in Manchester for a comment about the Which? report and am told to send an email. No response.
The only interview I can find with Mr Langsam is from 2011 when he said his company had a record of adopting ‘neglected properties’ and making ‘the necessary investment to restore them to their former glory’.
But his Coventry hovel looks like it has been neglected for decades with little investment and no pursuit of glory. I’ve never been so pleased to hand over a plastic key and step out into the November rain.
The Hotel Inspector’s verdict out of five:
Double or twin rooms from £49, britanniahotels.com
