Ty Cod in Gwynedd

El personal es extremadamente grosero y los tiempos de espera para las bebidas son ridículos. Una de las camareras me impidió hablar de una servilleta y usó un tono muy hostil, que incluso para una Wetherspoons es sub estándar. Además, mis amigos esperaron casi una hora por sus bebidas. Muy mal servicio y el medio ambiente es generalmente bastante basura.

Hotel was a disgrace very dark and very rundown furniture was appalling .breakfast was from 8am till 9am no need to rush down for breakfast food was awful .no staff on just a young girl and it look like she was doing it all .the hotel needs a complete renovation we would not recommend

As a weary UK road warrior, I’ve seen my share of budget hotels and pub grub, but this Premier Inn and its adjacent “restaurant” (a generous term) take the biscuit—a stale, overcooked one, mind you. Buckle up for a tale so absurd it’s almost performance art, but trust me, you don’t want a ticket. Picture this: I stroll into the pub for a pint and a bite, expecting a cozy evening. The place is quieter than a library at midnight, with empty tables galore, yet there’s a queue of four at the bar. One barperson, moving at the pace of a sloth on sedatives, serves with all the warmth of a January puddle. I order a single pint—simple, right? Apparently not. The small dark-haired female behind the bar treats my request like I’ve asked them to solve quantum physics. The pint arrives, though, and credit where it’s due: the glass was clean, and the beer didn’t taste like regret. Emboldened, I decide to brave the food menu. Enter stage left: a second staff member, described by others as “half-cast” (I’ll stick to saying she looked like she was mentally on Mars). This lady’s vibe screams “I’m here for the paycheck, not the pleasantries.” Rude, aloof, and with the charisma of a damp sock, she takes my order for a starter and main like I’m interrupting her existential crisis. I’m not expecting a red carpet, but a smile wouldn’t hurt, mate. The starter—nachos, a snip at £6.99—arrives on what I swear was a saucer from a child’s tea set. Dry yet soggy (a culinary paradox), they’re served with no cutlery, so I channel my inner caveman and scoop with my hands. Meanwhile, the pub’s running a £6 meal deal for a burger and chips. Nachos, you’ve been robbed. Forty minutes later—yes, *forty*—my main course, the “smothered platter,” stumbles in. The restaurant’s still half-empty, but the bar queue’s growing, with one heroic sloth-server now joined by two new faces who seem equally baffled by the concept of urgency. The platter itself? A tragic comedy. The “4oz” steak is smaller than a digestive biscuit and so overcooked it could double as a hockey puck. Medium rare? Maybe in a past life. The gammon’s passable, but the cheese is a greasy, rubbery affront to dairy. Onion rings are hard enough to double as coasters, and the chips—oh, the chips—are a chaotic mix of raw and cremated. There’s a lot of food, but quantity doesn’t equal quality. It’s like they tried to smother my enthusiasm instead of the platter. Now, let’s talk service—or the lack thereof. Tables around me are a cutlery-free zone. No forks, no knives, no napkins. Diners are begging for utensils like they’re auditioning for Oliver Twist. The waitress, bless her, mumbles, “Oh, haven’t they put them out? Sorry,” before vanishing faster than my appetite. My table’s no exception—dirty, uncleared, and utensil-less. I flag down a server for a fork and napkin, feeling like I’m negotiating a UN treaty. In the 2.5 hours I’m there, not a single table is cleaned. It’s like the staff are staging a protest against hygiene. The Premier Inn itself? Same vibe, different stage. Checking in feels like crashing a private gossip session. The bloke and two women at reception barely acknowledge me, exuding all the warmth of a broken radiator. Awkward doesn’t cover it—I’m pretty sure my arrival ruined their chat. The hotel and pub are littered with signs begging for Google reviews, so here’s mine: a standing ovation for incompetence. If you’re a local looking for a cheap pint and a laugh, maybe this place has charm. But for anyone else? Run. I’m dreading breakfast and already plotting my escape to the Porthmadog Premier Inn, where the staff are friendly, the food’s edible, and the tables are—gasp—clean. This place? It’s a sitcom where the joke’s on you. Save your sanity and book elsewhere.

unprofessional and rude for no reason

We had a very pleasant stay: the staff are friendly and helpful, our room was very comfortable, and the food is excellent.