"The hotel room had urine and poo marks everywhere."
"If I saw the room before I paid I would of slept in my car."
"I do not know how this hotel is still up and taking bookings. I cried myself to sleep."
"MY GOD IT'S THE MOST UNCOMFORTABLE BED I'VE EVER SLEPT IN (INCLUDING A HOSTEL IN AFRICA)"
"Walking through reception we encountered the first real stenches of what can only be described as sick mixed with death."
It is fair to say that not everyone who has stayed at the Britannia Bournemouth had a great time.
Have you had a nightmare hotel experience? Email webnews@mirror.co.uk
The above complaints, taken from the first five reviews on its Trip Advisor page, neatly sum up the devastating mauling that visitors to the five storey lodge have dealt it online.
Of 1,400 reviews, 628 rate the Britannia as 'terrible', commending any vestiges of its faded glamour as tired and rundown, remarking on the large amounts of dog poo woven into the smoking lawn and generally dragging it over the hot coals of criticism.
Based on the fact it is the most poorly reviewed of the Britannia hotels, which has been voted the UK's worst hotel chain for eight years in a row - and given Trip Advisor refuse to publicly list its lowest ranked spots - the venue is at very least in contention for the country's worst hotel.
Numerous acid tongued reviewers claimed it had nabbed the top spot, with one even suggesting it was world beatingly poor.
It was with that damning title in mind that I left the Mirror's ivory London towers and headed down to the south coast's forgotten gem to see for myself whether the hotel lived down to the hype.
Surprisingly, it was remarkably easy to find someone to fill the other bed of the £44 twin room I booked, with two close friends battling it out for an opportunity to try out the destination.
The first thing that strikes you as you walk into the car park is the font of the hotel sign.
The words 'Britannia Hotel' are scrawled across the white façade in two foot high in biro styling, giving the air of a long shuttered town centre cinema.
To the left of the entrance is a deserted glass swimming complex, the big empty pool lying in the middle half heartedly urging you not to jump in after a sticky day's drinking on the beach front.
The receptionist who greeted us at the desk was straight forward and business-like.
As she took payment for the room and £7.50 breakfasts, we had a chance to look around the entrance hall, which continued the cinema theme with its washed out carpets and 'two Budweiser for £5' posters covering the walls.
A black bin bag of rubbish lay abandoned in front of the drinks fridge as we squeezed ourselves into a lift clearly too small to fit a wheelchair, presumably limiting those with mobility issues to the ground floor.
A glance out of the window onto the strange central smoking courtyard revealed a trifecta of big night in-implements - a drugs baggy, discharged laughing gas canisters and a condom wrapper.
Adorning the halls were an excellently odd selection of hotel art, an oil painting of a monk with Prince-like features who watched us make our way around heaps of discarded bedsheets to room 428.
Much has been made on Trip Advisor about the quality of the rooms.
People variously complain that they smell of weed, they're dirty, they would have been "worn and dated in the '70s", they're strewn with used knickers and leggings.
While our own room didn't offer such unpleasant surprises, there were issues.
Whether from years of communal perspiration released by the boiling hot room come the morning or simply damp, the plaster was breaking through on one wall.
A singular dead fly lay on the windowsill, inoffensive except in its suggestion that the room was not cleaned as thoroughly as we may have liked.
Deeply stained armchairs attested to this suspicion, while a screw sticking out from a picture frame implied a lack of general upkeep.
For several hours we were unable to illuminate the room as all but the bathroom lights were out of action, leaving us with the deafeningly loud extractor fan until a cheery man on reception explained that the central electricity switch was hidden beneath the kettle.
Next to that lay a clear plastic bag stuffed with pots of milk, tea, coffee and little plastic spoons, just about sturdy enough to handle a midnight Pot Noodle.
In 2021, at the end of a 16 month period that has decimated much of the hotel sector in this country, the £44 charge for a twin room is immensely cheap.
For that price a sizeable room plenty large enough for two strapping boys to settle into for the night awaits you, with a large TV at the end of the bed and a view out onto the tree lined car park.
Yes the sounds of arguing couples and other people's TV choices are audible, but so long as the room door is shut they are little more than muffled background characters.
Perhaps it was the good company or the startlingly blue sky which had finally broken through after weeks of grey, but I had a lovely time at the Britannia.
The beds were comfy, bug free and only contained a singular short, slightly suspicious looking hair.
The veggie fried breakfast was perfectly fine and plentiful, as was the apple juice and coffee.
But best of all were the staff, who to a man and woman were kind to us and upbeat - one might've thought not a mean feat when you're working in one of Britain's worst hotels.
