Bloc, Birmingham - Hotels Review

Some might argue that Birmingham's new capsule hotel doesn't really offer penthouse luxury, but few could quibble with its rock-bottom prices

 Exterior and lobby of Bloc, Birmingham

The Bloc Hotel Birmingham is located in Birmingham, United Kingdom

• 200 meters from St. Paul's Church
• 1.2 kilometers from Birmingham
• 12 kilometers from Birmingham Intl. Airport (BHX)
• 1.2 kilometers from Birmingham New Street Station
• 300 meters from Red Palace
• 400 meters from Birmingham Telecom Tower (Post Office Tower)
• 600 meters from Museum of the Jewellery Quarter
• 600 meters from St Chad's Cathedral

Penthouse proposition, pavement price, says the press blurb for the 73-room Bloc hotel. The concept is based on Japanese capsule hotels, but the construction technique, by a company called Boxbuild, is unusual. Boxbuild manufactured the rooms off-site then stacked them in situ so the hotel exterior could be wrapped round them.

Fundamental to the idea is eliminating unnecessary space (so that rooms can be more densely packed into the site). Research showing that hotel guests rarely unpack an overnight bag (that puts me in a minority, then) has resulted in "space hungry" wardrobes being replaced by something called an "integrated bag storage area".

Bloc hotel claims to have arrived at "the perfect combination of luxury and price", which includes use of "significant" sound insulation, luxurious cotton sheets, Italian ambient lighting and aircon set at an environment-sensitive 18-20C and 40% humidity.

The taxi driver at Birmingham New Street station isn't exactly sure where the hotel is – so we go for a spin round an unexpectedly lovely Georgian square, St Paul's, with a handsome church in the middle, until we spot a grey, modern cube. Bloc it says, in tall (small) letters.

This is the kind of urban location I love – the developers are moving in but a tattily beautiful Victorian and Georgian legacy remains. Hello, the builders are still here, polishing the floor. Lobby seating is so low it cannot be negotiated with decency in a dress, and surely someone has forgotten to put legs on the coffee tables? A Nespresso machine, MTV on a large screen and Hannah, the cheery receptionist at a white desk, complete the look.
bloc bedroom

I take myself and a cup of tea (there are also cold drinks and snacks from vending machines) up to the second floor. A bed, the exact width of the room (or maybe the room is the exact width of the bed) has been slotted between a padded wall and a large sealed window. The shower room is a cubicle behind smoked glass with a monsoon showerhead set into the ceiling, plus a loo and tiny basin. It's so neat I try the basin immediately. A little shower water splashes on to the loo roll but miraculously not on to the shelf with my toiletries. Bathroom lighting may be Italian but it's rubbish for doing make-up.

My bag stows beneath the bed. The wardrobe substitute is three shallow pegs on the wall but not a single hanger. I've got a black-tie do to go to tonight – what am I supposed to do with my frock?

Laptop, camera and my rapidly cooling cup of tea fit on the (single) bedside table (seating is a padded cube). There are plenty of sockets, free Wi-Fi (good show) and a blackout rollerblind at the window.

This is what I call a sensory-deprivation hotel. No fresh air, no art or colourful textiles, no armchair and just enough space (it would be snug with two people).

The bed is surprisingly comfy, I'm pleased to report, though I wouldn't describe the sheet as luxurious. Morning tea necessitates a trip to the lobby, and breakfast a long wait (nothing opens till 10am). The point is, you won't come here to luxuriate; you'll come because it is cheap – and who can argue with clean comfort in a big city for as little as 30 quid?

Bloc hotel pretty much does what it says it will but the real bonus is the staff – Hannah and her friendly, efficient Brummie colleagues. They know the area, they give Bloc a sense of place and they inject some much-needed character. [source]

St Pancras Renaissance Hotel, King's Cross, London

From the Hogwartsian Booking Office restaurant to the beautiful cantilevered staircase and soaring gothic windows, England's finest railway hotel is on the right track

St Pancras Renaissance Hotel 

Euston Road, King's Cross,

London

NW1 2AR

020-7841 3540 

stpancrasrenaissance.co.uk 

From £300 room-only

The tinkle of distant dropped cutlery echoes around an expanse of brick and glass. We are eating in the Booking Office. Yes – the old booking hall of St Pancras station, now reconfigured as hotel restaurant and cocktail bar.

More than £150m has been spent reinventing the ticket office as bar, forecourt as lofty reception (currently filled with clouds of cherry blossom) and, most importantly, breathing new life into England's finest railway hotel.

As a student, I remember passing the former Midland Grand, its pointy towers and arched windows part fairytale, part schlock-horror set. A collision of fantasy and function on the Euston Road. The hotel closed almost 80 years ago and decades later only narrowly avoided demolition.

Thank God it's still here, Tania and I agree, settling back against black leather, as self-satisfied as cigar-puffing grandees in a gentlemen's club. The Hogwartsian space is cleverly divided and lit just right, so we are aware only of the undulating beauty of oak linenfold panelling and heavy glass lamps in our own "bit", not overwhelmed by the soaring gothic windows, or the sheer distance from the far end of the room.

"You can have a glass of Bolly for £13," says Tania. "And that's a good white." She points at La Croix Vermentino sauvignon blanc, £5.25 a glass. "Pity they only have whites from Castello Banfi, though."

Then, "Proper peasanty," she says, scooping coarse duck terrine on to sourdough toast while I spoon up pea and ham soup. We follow with roast fillet of seabass and a little fricassee of peppers and mushrooms. "Simple, subtle, but delicious," she says.

The public areas of Sir George Gilbert Scott's Victorian masterpiece are simply mesmerising. The stone cantilevered staircase, curved hallways of Minton tiles and unexpectedly decorative, jewel-coloured pattern and illustration on walls, cornices and ceilings all carefully, lovingly restored.

There are 38 suites in the original building and a further 207 rooms in a new annexe, Barlow House. Those rooms are not a bad size, if unexciting (and I'd advise an upper floor). At this scale, though, it is impossible to avoid creeping corporateness – even in the suites. Mine is comfortable for sure, with a marble bathroom (REN products in a glass-lidded box), office area, heavy sunburst mirror, easy chairs positioned for gazing across the giant Olympic symbol to Platform 9 and Eurostar. Wi-Fi is free (but only in the suites) and marks for not being too snobbish to provide tea- and coffee-making things, too. Just because I have the services of a butler doesn't mean I want to rack up room service bills.

I am less keen on being woken at 7am by a platform announcement (not sure it would be any quieter facing Euston Road – especially as double glazing isn't allowed for the listed windows) but, hey, it's fun watching everyone scurrying about below. Even though, since my stay, Marcus Wareing has opened his Gilbert Scott Brasserie, designed by David Collins, in the former hotel entrance hall and coffee room, and stolen all the thunder, I urge you to make time for coffee, if nothing else, in the Booking Office. It is surely the most inspiring new public space in London. [source]

Moby says Britney Spears 'isn't music'. So what is?

In hypocritically describing pop as 'advertising for ringtones', Moby fails to grasp the genre's great emotional highs and lows.

Moby, I'm amazed ... she doesn't write that many of her songs, but who except Britney Spears could have performed Toxic?

In 2003, Moby co-wrote and produced a track for Britney Spears's fourth album, In the Zone. At the time, he was ridiculously popular following the success of his albums Play and 18, while Britney was still more famous for her pop songs than her personal life (well ... almost).

It seems, however, that their working relationship has soured somewhat. Earlier this month Moby, while trying to defend her to The Quietus, ended up calling her "a broken-down shell of a human being" and in a new interview with Spinner he claims her songs, and those of the majority of current chart pop, are "fun, but I don't think of it as music". He goes on: "It's manufactured. I appreciate it as a pop culture phenomenon and some of the songs I like if I hear them in a shopping mall or something, but it doesn't function as music for me."

For Moby, a song can only be classed as "music" if it has "integrity in a really interesting, direct way" and though he claims to not be criticising the likes of Rihanna, Britney and Ke$ha directly, he goes on to refer to their output as "hyper-produced corporate product" and, the old classic, "advertising for ringtones".

Setting aside his blatant hypocrisy – licensing your entire album to commercials, as Moby did with Play, makes you guilty of producing "advertising for Vauxhall Corsas", if not ringtones – it's an argument that seems to follow most pop music around these days. At the heart of it is the theory that all music needs to have been wrenched from the emotional core of a tortured soul, ideally recorded in a basement toilet and augmented only by the scratching of fingers on guitar strings and tears, ACTUAL TEARS. It forgets that music can be fun and instantaneous, or that great pop stars are often used as a front for great pop songs, often written by great songwriters (Max Martin, Cathy Dennis, Stargate). It also hints at another old adage: that pop is for children who lap it up without giving it a second thought.

Yes, Britney doesn't write that many of her songs, but would ... Baby One More Time or Toxic have worked as well if someone else had sung them? Or if it's genuine emotion you're after, have a listen to Cold Case Love from Rihanna's Rated R or Britney's own Everytime, performed in the aftermath of her break-up with Justin Timberlake.

Let's not get carried away – there is a lot of bad pop out there (Black Eyed Peas, Pitbull, Olly Murs, I'm looking at you). But to tar it all with this incredibly patronising brush doesn't do anyone any favours. If Moby's idea of "proper music" is somehow linked to longevity (his ringtone comment degrades it as something throwaway), it will be interesting to see whose music stands the test of time. Personally, I'd rather Umbrella was remembered over We Are All Made of Stars. [source]

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie can't exactly get rid of each other since they have six kids and all, but it sounds like they might make their union legally binding -- and perhaps in the not-so-distant future.

Brad hinted at the prospect of getting hitched in a recent interview. “The kids ask about marriage. It's meaning more and more to them. So it's something we've got to look at," he said (via Us magazine).

But, it's not like their kiddos don't know they're wildly in love. Brad added: “We tell the kids, 'Mom and Dad are going off to kiss.' They go, 'Eww, gross!' But we demand it."

Originally Brangelina swore they wouldn't marry until gay marriage was legal, but perhaps their time table has changed.