I was in Mullingar for a function recently and this seemed like the place to stay. I had been in the town many times before over the years and always remembered that the Greville Arms, from the outside, had a look of 'classic town centre' hotel, something most towns in England and Ireland possess. It was an impressive looking building right in the centre. Also, up the street was a pub I had the pleasure of drinking many a beautiful pint in on a match-day - Canton Caseys. So, I thought, why not, and I booked a room in the place. Oh, how wrong I was and I am still, to this day, regretting staying in this absolute kip of a place. If there was such thing as a no star rating on Tripadvisor I'd be gladly giving it that. One star is just too generous for this dump.
The Greville Arms is an unimaginably bad hotel on every conceivable level. In fact, I wouldn't even call it a hotel. It's a disco bar that just happens to have a couple of dozen guest rooms attached. The management and staff seem to forget they have guests who are not p*ssed to the eyeballs by night, or stuffing their faces full of stodgy food by day. Guests, it seems, are a distraction, a necessary evil in the path of obtaining their late night drinks licence.
I wish I had read the reviews here before checking in. I too had to run the gauntlet of entering via the car park, through this awful looking carvery area. As I walked through I got a "preview" of the hotel ballroom - by nose first I may add. It seemed passable, like a disco really, but I thought it was a low ceiling function room with some class of a scruffy Roman theme and I paid no heed to it. Carrying on through the carvery I was immediately struck by how dirty and uncared for it was. There was what seemed like chips embedded into the carpet under most of the tables. Many of the tables hadn't been cleared and the place seemed cheap and nasty - formica tables etc. Someone above called it a canteen, and that is the perfect discription for it, but at the same time to it that is an insult to a clean boarding school or an army mess. The contents of the carvery itself looked extremely unappetising. A real 1980's Irish job with piles of scones and steamy glasses at one end and in the serving area lumps of ham, brown mystery meat, chicken swimming in oily sauce, and mushy looking veg, much of it generously spread or mixed into other compartments. The staff were content to chat amongst themselves as people queued tray in hand.
"I won't be eating here" I thought to myself.
Into the reception and things seemed to clear and cheer up a bit. Despite a low ceiling it had a nice feel to it, but its shiny tiles and 1990s furniture was completely out of place and out of sorts with the room, the doors just off it and the lovely main staircase. It was, I’m sure, a plush place at one point. But it has obviously been done up a couple of years ago with little thought and it was almost sterile, too modern for what it was. Anyway, I collected my key from a pleasant but distracted man who told me my room was up the first floor, then down the corridor and into the left and up the stairs to another floor.
Having nosed around a couple of stairs which seemed to lead to small rooms and stores and toilets I ended up in an empty upstairs bar. To my right was a roof garden containing a few smokers and what looked like a statue of a gorilla. Almost by accident I found the flight of stairs I was meant for. They were unhoovered and scruffy looking, and the cigarette burn was a warning I should have heeded. The walls were scuffed and poorly maintained. I eventually found my room, dumped my bags, washed and left for the function I was in town for. The room looked passable enough, but very dated and a little rough around the edges.
I returned later that night and I really couldn’t believe what I was in. Was it a hotel, or was it a disco? The place was full – and I mean full - of drunk people who were seemingly given free reign of the entire building. It was like a house party when the parents were gone, or one of those American college movies where a campus dorm is full to the brim of people. The small foyer was packed with young people, and wet with drink. Tables groaned under empty glasses. A hen night was in progress in one corner and groups of young langers spilling pints were standing nearby. I went into the toilet and was shocked even further. The floor was covered in urine, one of the urinals blocked with tissue and fag ends. I went into the main bar which was nicely appointed and seemingly steeped in local GAA history but busy and boisterous with harassed looking staff slapping drinks on the counter and seemingly in a hurry to get out even though it was a long way off closing time. The loud music seemed at odds with the decor and after a long wait I eventually got a rancid pint of Guinness. My server pulled the first pour then disappeared, leaving my unfinished pint on the counter for a good few minutes. Eventually a man finished it and handed it to me, but I at least thought the offer of a fresh one would be forthcoming. It wasn’t. I took a wander, and found, to my surprise, that there was a disco in full swing in the function room to the rear I had glimpsed earlier. It didn’t seem like the type of disco I would normally attend but I was allowed in to have a look. It was quite menacing with lots of young drunken men ‘throwing shapes’ on their big night out. The music was what my daughter listens to – modern American muck. I went back to the bar, which I found was over two levels with a DJ playing music which ranged from rock to dance to country – all of which played very loudly. I’m no prude, but this was LOUD. The smoking area from earlier was now stuffed and the smell of cigarettes filled the adjoining areas and part of the bar. It was raining but that doesn’t seem to deter a modern day smoker. I had enough at this point. I felt like an old man and decided to go to bed as it had been a long day.
I was then shocked to find the hallway and stairs I was lost in earlier full of drinkers, young and old, abandoned glasses and a general air of ‘so what’ prevailing. There was people everywhere, even on the stairs. I dumped my pint without even finishing it (a first) back in the bar and went up the stairs to my room. I was quite taken aback to find a young couple seemingly in the process of making love, a beer bottle spilled at their feet. I went back down to the bar to complain but could not get the attention of a member of staff. There was no one at reception and the door man said he could not leave his post so I went back up, hoping the couple might be gone. They were still there, the male now smoking a cigarette and the girl tucked into his arm.
If I had the bravery I should have said something, but again there was a vaguely menacing look about the chap so I carried on up the stairs to my room for what I hoped would be a peaceful night’s sleep. Again, how wrong I was. Thump thump-thump-thump went the music from two discos clashing against each other to create a mess of noise and annoyance, and ra-ra-ra went the people until at least 3am. I swore I could hear the shouting and roaring move from inside to the hotel and onto the streets.
Having laid awake in my bed for so long the smell of the room was getting worse and worse and began upsetting me almost as much as the noise from the two discos below. It was like a combination of damp clothes, Shake and Vac and stale beer. I somehow slept for a few hours and the second I awoke, I dressed and attempted to get out as quickly as possible, the smell of the room now quite unbearable, its furnishings, curtains, and fittings even more scruffy and unappealing in the cold reflection of a night spent in them. It was dated and dreadful. Like something that was built and forgotten about. The shower unit was nearly as old as I am. I had arranged to meet my friends for lunch and was planning on relaxing in the hotel until then, but I was happy and relieved to be checking out at breakfast time.
The dimly lit hallways stank of beer and cigarettes, the bottle of beer from the courting couple still where it was the night before. The stairs in the hallway/holding area at the top of the main stairs were only partially hovered, and looked like a mess, bad wallpaper and chipped paint everywhere. The reception area below also smelt like a bar, but with a lemony zest attempting to cover up the night before. I went into the restaurant for breakfast and it too had a touch of faded glories about it. I abandoned the breakfast as the sausages were overdone and the rashers underdone and both too greasy. My egg was cold, and my toast moist. The pudding looked like snails. I sipped tea with scum on the top before deciding enough was enough and it was time to make a complaint. The manager was not there but a girl (a staff member or a duty manager I do not know) dutifully listened to me and, obviously proud of the place, defended the hotel to the full. She told me the owner is often in on Sundays and suggested I leave a contact number. I told her to forget it and I paid to get the hell of the place. The whole experience had been like stepping into the Fawlty Towers hotel after Basil had sold it. It was borderline insulting, only it was the building and everything about it and not the people who were doling out the insults.
Because it was a Sunday morning there was little else to do so I found a shop, bought some newspapers and read them awaiting my Sunday lunch rendez-vu.
When I told my friends of the night I had endured they laughed, which rubbed salt in my wounds. Some of them had stayed at a new hotel in the town (I won’t name it for fear of someone thinking I’m a plant) and had a perfectly pleasant night by all accounts, with residents drinks in a small, private bar, unlike the youthful drunken mess I was landed with, and good bright rooms and a freshly cooked breakfast. The couple from Mullingar we were there to celebrate with the night before then sealed the deal by saying even they wouldn’t go near the Greville Arms!
I for one will never be going near the Greville Arms again, and I would strongly advize anyone thinking of staying there to avoid at all costs unless you are there for a hen or a stag night and fancy falling up the stairs to bed when you are too drunk to notice the squalor and poor condition of the place. Everything about this hotel is wrong. It's a venue more than a hotel. It has charm from the outside, but once you enter those doors it disappears. This place needs to be torn apart and rebuilt, it could be a charming classic town centre hotel but as it is, it’s a filthy, disgusting kip.
