Shattered dreams...

We all have memories that either fade or are diluted by time, they become unreal because it’s nigh on impossible to remember things exactly as they were. Often, if I go back somewhere, I’m astonished to find that the houses across the street, say, are closer than I remembered them; I might stroll around looking for shops in a long-forgotten high street and note that everything looks a little bit shoddy and not as I recalled it. The end result, of course, is disappointment and sadness that things have changed for the worse and that my memories, the ones lodged in my mind for decades, have now been negatively updated, superseded by something not as warming to my soul. Shit happens, and so it was that last week I took a trip to Lyme Regis in the South West of England with a mind full of memories from decades past that would, ultimately, be tarnished by the reality: that things ain’t what they used to be.

The Royal Lion, Lyme Regis, Dorset

Many moons ago I spent my honeymoon in Lyme Regis. We didn’t have the ready cash for one of those faraway adventures in Mauritius or the Maldives that are far more commonplace today than they were ‘back then’ so we decided to remain closer to home.

I’m guessing that I would likely be long divorced had my original intention of journeying to the Isle of Eigg off Scotland’s west coast, had materialised. The trip would no doubt have involved a choppy boat crossing from Mallaig, the prospect (if I recall correctly) of being off grid and the requirement that all food items would need to be pre-ordered prior to departure and later delivered to wherever I was staying. It simply wouldn’t have worked and I can imagine now how we both would have left the island irate and angry with one another and would likely never have spoken again.

A missing handle on the desk

Fortunately, a couple of days after an incredible wedding and without a usable car, we journeyed to Lyme Regis by train, jumping off at Axminster and taking a taxi to a small B&B (the White House) at the top of Broad Street where we had two weeks in a magical place by the sea. It was here in Lyme that Meryl Streep and Jeremy Irons had recently filmed The French Lieutenant’s Woman, a movie of a novel set in Lyme, written by local author John Fowles. and, at the time, still fresh in the minds of locals.

Broad Street was dominated by two hotels: The Royal Lion and the Three Cups. Back in the day, to stay in the Royal Lion or the Three Cups was a big deal. Both properties offered creaky floors, grandfather clocks and traditional British food of the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding variety plus some equally traditional desserts as this was long before the arrival of sticky toffee pudding and Key Lime Pie. With little in the way of disposable income, we dined at the top of Broad Street in the Mad Hatter's restaurant where equally traditional cuisine was just as good but not as pricey.

A nasty carpet stain...

A few years later and with friends, we could afford to stay in the Royal Lion a couple of times a year, enjoying every minute of it: the food, the creaky floors, grandiose sleeping quarters like the King Edward Room and the traditional Olde English Inn vibe of the place. There are plenty of similar establishments dotted around England like the Mermaid Inn in Rye and, I think, the George in Alfriston to name but two. The Royal Lion, however, offered a small swimming pool, which seemed out of place, but added to the entertainment value and we loved it.

I vaguely remember having dinner in the Three Cups, an ethereal experience if ever there was one - or perhaps it was just a long time ago. I remember a darkly lit restaurant, candle light, good food and service, uniformed waiting staff even, but sadly an experience that won’t be repeated. The hotel closed some time ago and remains so today, although there are plans to turn it into apartments. Personally, if I had the money, I would buy it and reopen it as a hotel.

Today, there are, of course, other hotels in Lyme competing with one another and that was the case back in the day too, but the Royal Lion still has pride of place on Broad Street and the Three Cups remains little more than a sleeping partner across the road. The flames of grandiosity and quaintness and tradition at the Royal Lion, however, have flickered and gone out; exactly when (or why) I don’t know, but while the creaky floors are still there and everything is in place, the fire has gone out and what is left, in my humble opinion, is not worth writing home about. I don’t remember who owned the Royal Lion when I used to stay there, but today it is the brewer Hall & Woodhouse and some of the reviews on TripAdvisor leave a lot to be desired.

Nobody cleaned up the mess!

When I booked on Booking.com I wasn’t really thinking to tell the truth. I simply assumed the place would be the same Royal Lion I enjoyed all those years ago, but of course it wasn’t, things had changed and not for the best. There were many rough edges. In one of our two rooms a previous guest’s dental floss remained on the floor in the bathroom, a lipstick-stained towel was still on the rail, and in another room a handle was missing from one of the desk draws. There was also a stained carpet. Out on the stairs somebody had thrown a glass of wine at the wall, presumably in anger, and the stain was still there for all to see many months or perhaps years later. It's there now if you're in the area. At breakfast, uniformed waiting staff had been replaced by men with face piercings, cut-down jeans and calf tattoos. Standards had slipped. It was all a little unsavoury and once we started reading the Trip Advisor reviews it was only a matter of time before we upped sticks and went home a day early. But first, breakfast…

I ordered the full English and when it arrived I could tell by the quality of the sausage alone that little care had gone into its preparation; it wasn’t going to be what I remembered, put it that way. Mushy scrambled egg made matters worse; and believe me it’s rare that I don’t finish a traditional hotel-cooked English breakfast. The tea was fine but then it doesn’t take a genius to make a decent cuppa does it? The Royal Lion’s goose was well and truly cooked and we demanded a refund and left a day early. Having forked out just short of £700 for two nights in two rooms we were given £300 back. We thought it was fair enough but a friend said we should have received a full refund. It’s too late now so I guess we’ll have to make do, but sadly, the dream has been shattered. The Royal Lion has lost its roar and I sincerely hope that Hall & Woodhouse, owner of the hotel, isn’t going to continue pushing out the crapola  we endured. I can’t believe that an established South West of England brewer is going to sit on its laurels and continue to shatter the dreams of those who pay them a visit. In fact, I’d go further and plead with them to make some drastic changes immediately, give the place a huge makeover, up the game of the place. The rooms need more than a little TLC and the food needs a massive re-think.

A previous guest's flosser!

I had an inkling that dinner would be depressing to say the least. The menu was fairly expansive and I figured there was no way the meals on offer would be cooked from scratch by a brigade of chefs. No, we were firmly in microwaved, pre-prepared food territory, a long-time staple of brewery-owned managed houses throughout the land and I found myself wondering why the brewers have never learned their lesson. I spent six years as editor of Pub Food magazine and before that PubCaterer and during my time on both titles we, my fellow journalists and I, wrote many features about keeping the menu limited, making the meals fresh from scratch and not relying upon what were known as ‘frozen multi-portion entrees’, leave that to Brewers Fayre and other 'managed house catering concepts'. Clearly the brewers haven’t learned their lesson and perhaps they never will. In many ways, the Royal Lion is a pub with rooms, the word ‘hotel’ is superfluous. Perhaps we should have stayed in the Mariners up the road.

Within a few hours of what should have been day two of our short break I was heading home when I should have been in Lyme enjoying the sea and the Cobb and the Jurassic Coast, but no, I was on my way back to dreary South London and doubtless will never return to Lyme again.