Somehow the phrase 'hotel and spa' seems wrong. Very wrong. It's the 'spa' bit that doesn't ring true. I mean, 'hotel' is obvious: it's a big building, a very big building, and there are lots of rooms in which beds can be found, tea and coffee making facilities and bathrooms; there are bars, breakfast rooms, restaurants, it's a hotel alright, and I'm sure that the hotel management can make a case for their being a spa. But please, put aside any thoughts of glamorous women in white towelling robes and those so-called 'infinity pools', you're not going to find Joanna Lumley, but you might bump into Ross Kemp or Stacey Dooley. And talking of documentaries, there was one done on the Adelphi, many moons ago and if my memory serves me correctly, an old associate of mine used to work there, in its hey day, before it resembled something from a grainy video filmed from a diving bell making its way through the grand ballroom of the Titanic. In short, the Adelphi has had its day, its moment of magic, and now, sadly, it is but a shadow of its former self, it's more than a little rough around the edges, it's a place you ought to avoid like the plague.
When I arrived off the train from Euston, I must admit that I was looking forward to my one-night stay in this old stalwart of the British hotel industry, but then I didn't realise how low it had stooped and how the clientele of yesteryear had been replaced by an edgy, anorak-clad brigade of people who probably couldn't afford the Adelphi of the past. Queuing with me was a man with a neck tattoo and those horrendous earlobe piercings and everybody looked, well, down-at-heel, including yours truly, it has to be said. I suddenly realised that this wasn't going to be what I was used to and that I wouldn't be looking forward to breakfast, lunch or dinner in the hotel restaurant.
It's my own fault. I didn't have to spend just £36 for the night, my company can (and does) stretch a little further than that, but I thought it would be alright – it wasn't.
I picked up my key card and headed for room 618 on the sixth floor. The room was labelled a 'designated smoking room', but I didn't smoke and they hadn't even asked me at the front desk. I had no reason to assume that they would look at me and think: 'smoker'. There was a pungent whiff of stale smoke in the corridor and the room and I never got used to it or the general neglect. One of the beds had a wonky leg that had keeled over, there were scuff marks here and there, an extremely dated bathroom and I just knew I was going to get out of there and check-in somewhere else, like my old friend the Liverpool Marriott – not just a case of 'any port in a storm' I can tell you.
I switched on the television and started watching something while sitting on the edge of the bed, but soon I decided to head outside and find somewhere decent to eat. I found Brown's and sat there wondering what to do. It was all very depressing. One thing that had bothered me was a sign on the front desk that said something like: 'we will not tolerate violence or abusive language against our staff' – fine on the London Underground, but in a hotel? It provided a glimpse of the Adelphi's demographic and, ultimately, it stiffened my resolve to find somewhere else to stay. Fortunately, I had my overnight bag with me (it wasn't a suitcase, more a satchel, so the hotel staff would be none the wiser if they saw me leaving through the revolving door). I'd paid up front, so all I had to do was hand in the key card, but I didn't. Instead, I would come back the following morning en route to my appointment and 'check out'.
After dinner I went back to the Adelphi just to see if I could stay there, but the smell of stale smoke persisted, the general neglect couldn't be ignored, the warning notice on the front desk about violence to staff, the clientele, they all made finding somewhere else to sleep a top priority. As I walked up the steps towards the lobby, there were scruffy-looking people sitting outside smoking, there were people clasping cans of lager, and a coffee cup was just left there, on the steps, for somebody else to pick up. Nobody was going to pick it up.
On my way down (and out) of the hotel, there was a sign on the elevator doors reading 'Out of Order' – of course there was! There was also some screwed up tissue paper on the floor and I'd bet on it being there now, four days later.
They say you get what you pay for in life and you certainly do. A hotel room for £36 a night? There's no such thing as a free lunch, don't forget that. The Adelphi has had its moment in the limelight. Every dog has its day and in my opinion the hotel needs millions to be spent on refurbishment or, failing that, it should be demolished, turned into social housing, anything, but it's days as a hotel, surely, are numbered.
If you read this and are considering spending the night in the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, I would urge you to find somewhere else to stay. I headed for the Marriott.
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| The dated bathroom in room 618... |
When I arrived off the train from Euston, I must admit that I was looking forward to my one-night stay in this old stalwart of the British hotel industry, but then I didn't realise how low it had stooped and how the clientele of yesteryear had been replaced by an edgy, anorak-clad brigade of people who probably couldn't afford the Adelphi of the past. Queuing with me was a man with a neck tattoo and those horrendous earlobe piercings and everybody looked, well, down-at-heel, including yours truly, it has to be said. I suddenly realised that this wasn't going to be what I was used to and that I wouldn't be looking forward to breakfast, lunch or dinner in the hotel restaurant.
It's my own fault. I didn't have to spend just £36 for the night, my company can (and does) stretch a little further than that, but I thought it would be alright – it wasn't.
I picked up my key card and headed for room 618 on the sixth floor. The room was labelled a 'designated smoking room', but I didn't smoke and they hadn't even asked me at the front desk. I had no reason to assume that they would look at me and think: 'smoker'. There was a pungent whiff of stale smoke in the corridor and the room and I never got used to it or the general neglect. One of the beds had a wonky leg that had keeled over, there were scuff marks here and there, an extremely dated bathroom and I just knew I was going to get out of there and check-in somewhere else, like my old friend the Liverpool Marriott – not just a case of 'any port in a storm' I can tell you.
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| The bed in room 618 – not nice... |
After dinner I went back to the Adelphi just to see if I could stay there, but the smell of stale smoke persisted, the general neglect couldn't be ignored, the warning notice on the front desk about violence to staff, the clientele, they all made finding somewhere else to sleep a top priority. As I walked up the steps towards the lobby, there were scruffy-looking people sitting outside smoking, there were people clasping cans of lager, and a coffee cup was just left there, on the steps, for somebody else to pick up. Nobody was going to pick it up.
 |
| Tissue paper left on the floor... |
On my way down (and out) of the hotel, there was a sign on the elevator doors reading 'Out of Order' – of course there was! There was also some screwed up tissue paper on the floor and I'd bet on it being there now, four days later.
They say you get what you pay for in life and you certainly do. A hotel room for £36 a night? There's no such thing as a free lunch, don't forget that. The Adelphi has had its moment in the limelight. Every dog has its day and in my opinion the hotel needs millions to be spent on refurbishment or, failing that, it should be demolished, turned into social housing, anything, but it's days as a hotel, surely, are numbered.
If you read this and are considering spending the night in the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, I would urge you to find somewhere else to stay. I headed for the Marriott.
