Holiday Inn Express Birmingham Nec an Ihg Hotel

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You enter the lobby and immediately notice it doesn’t smell like a sad, damp sneaker. Instead, it smells faintly of coffee and clean laundry—which, in the hotel world, is basically a bouquet of roses. The check-in was so smooth I almost felt suspicious, like the receptionist was a robot designed specifically to make me feel powerful. “Room 407,” they said, handing over a key card that actually worked on the first try. Let’s pause for a moment of silence for all the times we’ve fumbled with a keycard like it’s a cursed Rubik’s Cube. This one worked immediately, and I nearly bowed out of pure gratitude.

The Room: A Masterclass in “Good Enough”

My room was a glorious monument to practicality. The bed was a perfect medium-rare—firm enough to support your back after a day of standing on concrete floors, but soft enough to swallow your phone when you drop it at 2 a.m. The pillows, God bless them, were not those weird, flat rectangles that feel like you’re sleeping on a stack of envelopes. No, these were actual, fluffy pillows. I fluffed one and it stayed fluffed. It was a small miracle, and I celebrated by lying on it like a starfish and staring at the ceiling for fifteen minutes.

Let’s talk about the bathroom. The shower pressure was so strong it could have power-washed the disappointment off my face after a bad lunch meeting. The toilet paper was double-ply—a luxury that separates civilization from anarchy. There was even a little bar of soap that wasn’t a sad, wafer-thin shard. Honestly, this room had everything a human needs to recharge: a desk, a lamp that didn’t flicker, and a TV that automatically turned to a channel showing golf. I didn’t care about golf, but the lack of decision-making was strangely comforting.