Let’s talk about the bathroom. It’s like stepping into a spaceship designed by a minimalist plumber who’s afraid of colour. The shower is a jet-powered beast that could peel paint off a battleship. Turn the dial to "scald," and you’ll get instant steam that foggy up the mirror so fast you’ll forget what you look like—a blessing for hungover mornings.
There’s a little bottle of shampoo that smells like a lemon meringue pie had a fight with a cleaning product. And the hand soap? It’s the same stuff they use in every Premier Inn from Birmingham to Bali. It’s universal. You could be in a coma, wake up, sniff your hands, and whisper, "Ah, West Bromwich."
The Breakfast: A Carb-Powered Arc
Descend to the restaurant for breakfast, and you’ll witness a beautiful, chaotic symphony. The buffet is a glistening altar of processed joy: bacon that snaps when you bite it, sausages that are suspiciously uniform, and a toaster that burns one side while leaving the other raw. It’s a metaphor for life. Also, the fried eggs float in a lake of oil that’s been there since the dawn of time.
Here’s a pro tip: grab a plate, load it like you’re hoarding for a nuclear winter, and then pour a river of HP Sauce over everything. Don’t forget the little plastic pots of jam—they’re the size of a thimble, but you’ll hoard them anyway. The coffee is brown water, but the orange juice is so artificially sweet it’ll make your teeth hum.
PREMIER INN WEST BROMWICH TOWN CENTRE (NEW SQUARE) HOTEL (West Midlands
