Before the cocoon I had never met a hotel I didn’t like. I thought all hotels were interesting. There was the hostel in the walls of old Jerusalem, so dirty I had to sleep in my clothes but riveting; the pale box in Oświęcim, Poland (Auschwitz in German) by the haunted square; the best hotel in Batumi, Georgia, pleased with itself because it was nearly an Ibis; the vampire-themed hotel which felt weirdly normal in the Carpathians; the lovely Narnian winter of Claridge’s. Then I stayed at the Zedwell Hotel near Piccadilly, and I didn’t like it because there is nothing to like. It’s inside the Trocadero, the old Victorian pleasure palace, so it will have known a world of pain. This is a ‘cocoon’ hotel, and it has nothing so interesting.  

The changing economics of war

No one seems sure why Olly Robbins had to go

‘Tea-towel-gate’: another British travesty

Zedwell also operates a ‘capsule’ hotel nearby: the capsule is the size of a single bed. This is interesting because it allows you........

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