I walk straight past the hub by Premier Inn when I arrive from the Trafalgar Square end of St Martin’s Lane. All those Lenny Henry ads have programmed my brain to expect a purple hue and I wasn’t looking for low-key, lime-green branding.
I’m met by a couple of cool young things who ask me how I’m doing and if I have any evening plans. Fine, I say. Yes. They seem a bit put out that I haven’t downloaded the hotel’s app, which lets guests control the TV, lights and air-con from a phone, contains a city guide and eases the check-in process. But their smiles only wane for an instant and I’m soon directed, via the lifts, to my fourth-floor room.
As I walk down the long corridor, passing a door every couple of steps – it’s quite a warren – it’s clear what Premier Inn owner Whitbread is up to. For over a decade, hoteliers in cities like Berlin and Amsterdam, aping their Tokyo sleep-in-a-tube precursors, have been selling us tiny cells as if they were a contemporary lifestyle decision. We’re meant to congratulate ourselves on being low-impact, no-frills, no-fuss, and cheap. It’s considered cutting-edge to regard a hotel as chiefly a bed, because – it’s implied – we’re too busy consuming the city to stay in.
But is this true? If that lower-case name were not proof enough, my room confirms that the designers of hub by Premier Inn have done their research. From the glass-walled loo, to the small bed against the wall, to the blinding whiteness of the décor, I’m in a wholly functional space. I’ve got a large suitcase, as I’m flying overseas in the morning, but dare not open it. There’s a narrow, alfresco slit for hanging up a coat and maybe a shirt. There’s a small chair, but not much of a window to sit beside – and that window is, of course, sealed tight against carbon monoxide/traffic noise/my committing suicide.
There’s a nifty slide-out desk and some useful under-bed storage, which is just as well because – though these rooms are targeted at singletons – I’ve made the fatal mistake of inviting my girlfriend. When she arrives with her smaller weekend case, we have to laugh at our cramped conditions. But who will sleep by the wall?
I actually like the design: minimal, a bit sci-fi, smooth and clean. The map-inspired artwork is nice. But a lot of the aesthetic is about what’s lacking. The hotel has no gym or pool. The room has no bath. No fridge. No stuff. No space.
After steamy-hot showers with Original Source shower gel (provided), we want to eat, but not the snacks and sarnies on sale in the hotel’s funky deli-cum-cafe. St Martin’s Lane is one of the best locations in London, a hop away from Covent Garden, Soho, the Strand or the Thames, and five minutes’ walk from the South Bank. That places a lot of culture and food within walking distance.
On our return, other guests are doing the same. Some are single business people. There’s a Spanish couple on a tight budget carrying a supermarket supper. We also spot some sixtysomething theatregoers – the Coliseum, home of the English National Opera, is just across the road. We bump into them at the refreshments stand, where free Twinings teas and coffee available 24 hours a day is a generous touch.
The double bed is soft and cool. I get the outer edge. The TV is flush with my toes and looks huge. There are some tricksy buttons behind my head, and it takes a while to work out which are for lights, sound or heating. But, come sleep time, it’s deadly quiet once I’ve killed the fan in the aircon. During the night, my ear switches on some of the buttons – and they glow a fluorescent blue. I can’t work out how to turn them off. I should have got the app…
Leaving, I grab a great little fruit and granola breakfast from the deli and re-enter the normal world. Yes, it feels just like that. The hub idea is hotel as airlock, storage dock and recharging unit. Whitbread is planning dozens of them, and I’ve no doubt they will suit travellers who just need to crash out between meetings or flights. But I like staying in, and no one – not even Lenny Henry – will convince me this kind of experience is enhancing my lifestyle or upping my hipness quotient.
• Accommodation was provided by hub, 110 St Martin’s Lane, 0333 321 3104 premierinn.com. Room only from £76 (but typical price for mid-April £147)
Ask a local
Rev Dr Sam Wells, vicar, St Martin-in-the-Fields
• See
Of course, I’m biased, but for a quiet moment I go down to the lower basement of St Martin-in-the-Fields to the Dick Sheppard Chapel, which is always open in daytime and has a magnificent Gerhard Richter tapestry in which I never fail to see new things. You’re spoiled for art around here, but my favourite is the Poussin collection at the National Gallery. For me, Poussin is the perfect artist.
• Drink
For a quiet pint (I don’t go for noisy ones), I disappear upstairs at the Lemon Tree round the corner on Bedfordbury.
